


Where the Water Flows

by starbunny



Series: Turn the Tide [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Captain America: The First Avenger, Established Relationship, Fluff, Follows the story of The First Avenger, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magic, Multi, Pre-Captain America: The First Avenger, World War II, mostly canon-compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-09-24 17:08:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 23,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17104682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starbunny/pseuds/starbunny
Summary: From changing eye colours to controlling actual elements at will, nobody knew how magic worked, how it developed, or why so many different powers existed in the first place. All that was known was that ninety percent of all people were guaranteed to develop magic of some kind.Steven Grant Rogers was part of the ten percent that didn't.(Or the First Avenger AU but with a twist of magic)





	1. The Birth of Everything

When Bucky first manifested his powers, Steve was eighteen.

Steve’s eye was swollen and tender, hand pressed to the large gash on his head where fresh blood was still spilling out from. His head was throbbing, different parts of his body aching and hurting all over, and it had taken a while for him to eventually limp back home and pry open the door, but none of that fiery pain could even compare with the way Bucky’s expression darkened upon seeing Steve, putting even the blackest thunderclouds to shame.

“Steve! What the _fuck!_ ” Bucky immediately cursed out loud, tossing aside the book he was reading and immediately stomping towards the toilet to fetch the first aid kit.

Steve just winced, inching step by step towards the couch and settling down as delicately as he could.

Bucky quickly returned with the kit, placed it on the table and started pulling out things with practiced accuracy.

Steve’s blood-soaked hand was then swatted aside, and Bucky firmly pressed a clean bandage onto the wound, ignoring the sharp wince from Steve as he did so.

A few quiet minutes passed like that, with neither of them saying a word.

Bucky was _pissed_  - Steve didn’t need to be a genius to know that - and he knew (from experience) that saying anything right now would only lead to his best friend exploding out loud. And well…Steve wasn’t that fond of a mad Bucky.

It took a few more minutes before Bucky thought it safe to remove the bandage, and he tentatively pulled it off, checking.

The blood had finally stopped. Bucky made a soft noise of approval before frowning a little, reaching out again to wipe aside a small bloodied smear across Steve’s hair before tossing the bandage on the table with a nod.

He then pulled out the cotton wool. The dreaded alcohol. Steve immediately made a face.

“Shut it. You deserve it.”

Bucky pried the cap off the alcohol bottle and drenched the cotton wool with way more alcohol than strictly necessary.

“Ow!” Steve hissed as the cotton wool was pressed straight onto the bright red gash on his face.

“Stay still you little punk,” Bucky muttered, dabbing the wound again before letting out a long sigh. That usually meant that Bucky had calmed down. Somewhat. “Okay, what did you do this time?”

“I didn’t start it.”

“That’s what you say every time.”

“But it’s _true_ this time. I swear, I was gonna come straight home after class but there were two assholes harassing this lil’ null girl in the alley. They were pulling her hair and throwing her stuff around. I couldn’t just…do _nothing,_ ” Steve mumbled, trying not to flinch as Bucky spread more alcohol onto his wound. “Wasn’t my fault, Buck.”

Bucky merely sighed out loud again, and Steve bit his lip as Bucky dabbed onto his wound again.

It really wasn’t his fault. It’s not like he could control when assholes decided to act like assholes, Steve tried to reason to himself.

But the sharp bite of guilt sank in all the same. Bucky hated it when Steve went off and played hero. Steve already had a long list of medical conditions that put his projected life expectancy at a whopping twenty years, and to add to that, he was tragically and unfortunately – a null. Magicless. Powerless. Part of the ten percent of society that didn’t have a shred of magic in them. He must have really struck the genetic jackpot here.

Steve peeked up at Bucky. His face was a blend of shadows, backlit by the glow of the setting sun in the distance, but Steve could still clearly make out the furrowed eyebrows and unhappy scowl on his face. Yeah….His best friend was definitely still angry.

Bucky grumbled something under his breath as he tossed the bloody cotton piece aside to reach for a fresh clean bandage on the table, ready to finish dressing Steve’s wound.

But his arm knocked into the opened alcohol bottle instead, and Steve watched as the bottle tilted…and toppled over the table.

Bucky instantly dove for the bottle, but it was too late, the edges of the bottle slipping past Bucky’s fingers.

Uh oh.

Steve shut his eyes and winced when the inevitable crash resounded, followed by the shattering of glass.

“Fuck!”

Steve opened his eyes, and then his jaw immediately dropped at the sight in front of him.

Sure, there was a mess of glass shards all over the floor, fragmented into tiny little pieces, but that wasn’t what had Steve in sheer disbelief.

What shocked him was:

There was a perfectly round sphere of water – no, alcohol - floating precariously in the air, just mere inches away from Bucky’s outstretched hand.

Bucky was completely frozen, eyes glued to the swirling orb – eyes that he probably had no idea were glowing an icy blue. Steve gasped.

The sound shattered whatever trance Bucky was in, and the round orb of liquid trembled once before breaking its shape, causing the alcohol to splatter everywhere over the glass-ridden floor, soaking all the way up to Steve’s pants and Bucky’s sleeves.

And then there was a long silence.

Bucky was staring hard at the puddle on the floor and the mess of shards littered around (his eyes had returned back to normal). He was completely frozen, and when he didn’t move for a long minute, Steve called out,

“Bucky?”

Bucky’s eyes met Steve’s, all wide eyed. He opened his mouth to say something, and then closed it. And opened, and closed.

A slow grin made its way up Steve’s face.

“Your powers manifested!”

“I…Wha-” The stupidly gobsmacked expression on Bucky’s face made Steve bark out a laugh.

Steve lunged for Bucky, ignoring his protest of “Steve! There’s glass everyw- what are you doing?!” Bucky toppled over with a loud ‘oof’, and Steve laughed again, wrapping his arms around him.

Bucky’s muscles went stiff upon contact, but they immediately relaxed when Steve’s arms pressed deeper into his back. 

“I’m so happy for you,” Steve murmured, tightly embracing his friend.

Magic was a special gift (even though it probably should be considered the norm since ninety percent of people had it), and Steve had been waiting years and years for Bucky to finally manifest his powers. Bucky was kind and sweet in every way, and Steve had always known that his best friend would manifest something amazing.

And he was right.

“Steve.” Bucky returned the hug, encircling his arms around Steve, gently as always, as if he was afraid of snapping Steve into two. 

Steve buried his face into his usual spot in Bucky’s shoulder and pressed in, careful not to let any blood stain onto Bucky’s clothes.

Bucky was warm, he always was, and they stayed like that for a few long minutes.

“Steve,” Bucky then said, and Steve peeked up curiously from Bucky’s shoulder, meeting his best friend’s eyes.  

“I’m still mad at you, y’know.”

Steve laughed at that and buried back in, mumbling into Bucky’s shirt,

“Of course.”

\----------

It had been about a month since Bucky’s first manifestation, and it’s also been a month of Steve coming back home to a bunch of unexplainable puddles and soaked sheets everywhere.

First all of Steve’s clothes got soaked. Next, Bucky’s clothes. Then their shower stopped working. And finally, just last week, their water pipes exploded in the middle of the night and they had a minor flood in the apartment.

Now today-

“It…I can’t help it!” Bucky protested, waving his hands in the air frantically as if that could somehow fix the newest mishap for the day.

Steve just scowled, staring hard at the mess on the table.

He was trying to be patient. He really was. He knew, deep inside, that it honestly wasn’t Bucky’s fault. It took time for a person to control their newly manifested powers, it was normal for mishaps like this to happen at the start.

In fact, all the accidents that Bucky caused would be considered minor; Steve knew of a fella down the street that manifested fire magic, and he had to be locked up somewhere for a month or two before his powers stabilised because of all the fires breaking out in town. It wasn’t Bucky’s fault. Steve _knew_ that, but still-

He usually kept his sketchbook in his room, nestled somewhere beneath a pile of paints and charcoal pieces, but he’d accidentally left it out today, and of course, _of course_ , Bucky’s powers needed to act up, at that right time and place.

And now Steve’s sketchbook was destroyed into pulp.

Steve couldn’t help the way his eyes swelled up with sudden moisture, and still he continued glaring at the tattered remains of his sketchbook.

“Her picture was in there,” Steve choked out, hating the way his voice came out small and oh so vulnerable, steeped with that familiar hot gush of anger.

He didn’t care much about most of the drawings, except for one.

His last drawing of his mother, a sketch of her wearing her favourite floral hat, bright smile on her face, the way Steve knew she wanted to be remembered, not the sickly, bone-thin version of her that struggled to smile through all the pain.

It was the last and only thing Steve had to remember her by.

And it was gone.

He saw Bucky flinch in the periphery of his vision, hands quickly reaching out, but Steve ducked out of the way.

No, one touch from Bucky and all that anger would just go away. And Steve had the right to be mad. He wanted to be mad. He _was_ mad! Bucky just ruined his sketchbook, and his friend knew damn well how much it mattered to him!

“I’m so sorry Steve.” Bucky tried reaching out again, but Steve just squirmed away, refusing to look at him. “Steve..?”

It’s already been months, he should be over it, Steve told himself. Everyone had dead people, so many others are worse off than him and he should be _grateful_ in fact, because he still had Bucky and Bucky’s family and so many people around him but-

Who was he kidding?

No matter how cheery and smiley he acted in front of everyone and in front of Bucky, the hurt of losing her still stung like a fresh burn, searing hot, a constant nagging pain that made him feel all hollow and dark inside.

He knew that. Bucky knew that.

Steve’s usually placid thoughts took a turn for the dark, growing more vehement and toxic, spiralling and spiralling until-

Steve’s shoulders fell, and all his anger just…evaporated.

He could never stay mad at Bucky. It was just impossible.

“M’fine,” Steve mumbled, trying to hide the shake in his voice. “I- I’m gonna go to bed.”

Bucky’s eyes instantly widened, and he reached out again, gently wrapping his fingers around Steve’s wrist. Steve let him.

“Steve? I didn’t – shit – I’m really sorry.”

Steve just shook his head. The “I don’t want to talk about it” was left unsaid, but Bucky nodded anyway, letting go of Steve.

Steve staggered back to his room, not looking back once. He couldn’t. There were tears streaming down his face, a sob was threatening to break its way out of his throat, and he refused to let Bucky to see him like this, acting like some child.

He shut the door behind him harder than he normally would and immediately sunk to the ground, trying his best to stifle his sobs even though the walls were so thin and Bucky knew he was crying anyway.

Bucky knocked at his door three times throughout the rest of the evening, but Steve just ignored them all, waiting until the whole house went dark and everything became silent.

Steve already heard Bucky’s door shut perhaps hours ago, but he knew fully well that Bucky was probably lying awake on his bed, tossing and turning, feeling all guilty because Steve decided to act like a stupid petty child.  

Steve tentatively opened the door, peering out for a bit. When the coast was clear, Steve finally stepped out, closing the door behind him.

He knew Bucky could hear everything. He always could.

And then Steve’s foot knocked into something just outside his room, making a loud clink as his foot collided into it.

Steve frowned as he bent down to pick it up, fingers flailing about to grasp the object.

It was a bowl, a good one, one of the non-cracked ones they owned, and in the centre of it lay a single round apple.

Steve’s fingers brushed across the surface of it. It was firm, smooth, and completely unbruised. It must have cost a fortune – or more likely, Bucky stole it – and Steve’s eyes, despite how puffy and swollen he knew they were, found a way to fill up with tears again.

He picked up the precious apple and padded over to Bucky’s room, hesitating only for a short second before knocking.

The door opened near instantly, and Bucky looked out, eyes wide.

“Wanna share?” Steve croaked out, raising the apple up.

Bucky’s expression immediately softened, and then he was reaching out, a silent offer for a hug.

Steve acquiesced and let himself melt into Bucky’s embrace, tucking himself into the usual spot on Bucky’s shoulder. He smelled faintly of sweat and grime, but it was _Bucky,_ and Steve didn’t care.

“M’sorry,” Bucky whispered, and Steve buried himself deeper into Bucky’s warmth, whispering,

“Not your fault.”

Bucky chuckled a little and the vibrations of the sound reverberated through Steve’s body.

“You’re such a punk.”

“Jerk.” Steve returned.


	2. Developments

It took another month for Bucky’s powers to finally stabilise, and another two months for Bucky to fully learn how to control and manipulate his powers.

Nobody really understood how control over one’s magic was learnt. It was always assumed to be instinctual, explained away as the mind getting used to this new aspect of its body, like a bird learning to fly or a fish to swim. It was nature. There was no ‘why’s or ‘how’s, it was just that.

Nobody also knew why different powers manifested over others, or why there were such a variety of powers to begin with. Most people only manifested something small, often called ‘knacks’ because of how trivial and pointless some of these gifts were. Steve knew of a dame that could unpeel oranges with a single touch – only oranges, not lemons or any other kind of fruit. Just oranges. He also heard of people that could change the colour of their eyes, speak to rats, fix any kind of shoe, and a whole list of other random mishmash powers. All these knacks were curious, peculiar at times, but most weren’t remotely dangerous.

Once in a while however, somebody would manifest something more than a simple knack. A truly special gift like Bucky’s power: controlling water.

Of course, Steve always knew Bucky was _special_ , with or without his powers. He was charismatic, charming, and most of all, he was kind. Even when Bucky matured and grew a sharp jawline that started catching the eyes of countless dames, he had never abandoned Steve (who was on the other side of the genetic spectrum and remained small and child-like). He was always there, throughout their childhood, when Steve’s mother died (especially so when his mother died). Even when Steve had nothing, he had Bucky.

So he wasn’t the least surprised when Bucky manifested something new to add his already wide arsenal of magic.

Steve was a few months shy of his nineteenth birthday when he developed a terrible case of pneumonia.

It started off with a simple cough, just like any other, but that quickly worsened into bouts of death-like hacking and laboured breaths, accompanied by a blistering fever that seemed bent on sucking out every drop of life from Steve.  

Bucky was of course worried sick. He’d skipped work and was basically glued to Steve’s side at the bed, snapping up at the slightest cough or strangled breath.

Steve was feeling utterly miserable.

The fever had melted his thoughts into mush, even breathing had started to hurt, and his whole body felt unbelievably weak, like it had moulded itself into part of the mattress. Bucky had left his side for a bit to make some soup for him to eat, but any desire to eat had left Steve long ago and he weakly shook his head when the bowl was thrust in his face, much to Bucky’s dismay.

Countless times Steve had fallen deathly sick, and although each time he hobbled and fought his way out of it, each time still felt as if it could be the very last. Not to mention Bucky, who had to go through the thought of having to lose Steve, over and over. It tore him apart, each time.

When would it be enough?

“Steve? Stevie?”

Steve blinked a few times before prying his eyes open. Bucky was a blur, but Steve could still make out his bright blue eyes becoming redder and wetter.

Steve’s heart shattered.

One of the things he hated the most was to see Bucky cry, and knowing that the reason for the tears was because of  _Steve_  only made that ache in his heart intensify.

Steve wanted to reach out and reassure him that everything would be fine (even though Steve himself knew that wasn’t the case), but he could barely even breathe, and moving felt near impossible.

It just couldn’t be helped. He was born weak, tiny and frail and sick. And to care for somebody that was sick and could die any moment…Steve knew what that was like, and the thought of subjecting Bucky to such suffering was simply too much to bear.

Why be friends with somebody that probably wasn’t going to outlive twenty years? It would only end in pain.

So Steve did the only thing he could, picking countless stupid fights with Bucky just to try drive him away.

Except that the dumb jerk Bucky knew exactly what he was doing, and the more Steve tried to push him away, the tighter Bucky clung to him. He just simply refused to leave Steve alone.

And now he was hurting.

Because of _Steve_.

Looking up at his dear friend, he couldn’t help but say:

“M’sorry.”

Bucky’s face snapped to him, eyes turning even redder, and Steve immediately regretted even opening his mouth.

“Don’t say that. Don’t y- Don’t you _ever_ say that.” A hand was brushed through Steve’s hair, softly threading through the limp strands.

“I-” Whatever Steve wanted to say quickly dissolved into another bout of heavy coughs, and Bucky instantly twisted around to get some water.

“Here.” Bucky thrusted the fully-filled cup out in Steve’s direction.

But all of Steve’s muscles felt soft and liquid, like melted wax, and the sheer effort of trying to move had a sharp pain stabbing him straight in the lung, midway through a breath.

Steve winced, choked and then started coughing all over again.

Bucky barely remembered to put the glass down before rushing to Steve’s side, helping to prop him up.

The change in orientation left Steve’s head spinning, and he had barely regained his bearings before a glass of water was pressed to his lips.

Steve took a tentative sip. The water was pleasantly cool to his overheated body, and his body, as if suddenly realising just how thirsty it was, quickly demanded more.

Bucky just tilted the cup patiently, waiting for Steve to slowly swallow everything down. The water was faintly sweet. Cold. But not _too_ cold. And soothing and rejuvenating and-

Steve blinked a few more times, and suddenly, as if the water had lifted that thick feverish fog entrapping his thoughts, he had the strangest realisation.

Why was Bucky’s eyes glowing? Why was the _water_ glowing? The water that he was- _is_ \- drinkin-

Steve choked, the water spilling everywhere.

“Steve!”

The glass was hastily abandoned at the bedside table and Bucky reached out to fuss over Steve once again.

Steve just coughed once, before looking at Bucky anew.

“Wha-”

“Stevie? Are you okay?”

Bucky’s eyes had returned back to normal, back to the same old shade of blue, but Steve was so sure he didn’t hallucinate any of that.

His eyes had been glowing, glowing the same way they glowed whenever Bucky used his magic.

The water had been _glowing_.

And Steve was-

“…Stevie?”

Steve took a deep breath in, momentarily startled by how easy the air went in and how _painless_ it was. His body still felt overly hot, but his vision was clear, and his head didn’t feel muddled up anymore. He looked down at himself, utterly confused, before staring up at Bucky, who had nothing but concern etched into his face.

“Oh my _god_.”

Confusion took over the concern, and Bucky cocked his head to the side.

“…You can heal.”

And Bucky, the oblivious idiot who never seemed to understand how _special_ he was, could only say the one thing he always said to every compliment he’s ever gotten:

“Huh?”

\----------

Manifesting elemental magic was uncommon enough, but very rarely, some mages developed something on top of it – termed as ‘secondary magic’.

Some fire mages were literal solar panels. Some had powers that extended to the manipulation of light. Air mages could fly, some could control sound. Electricity mages could control magnetism. And water mages, some could _heal_. 

Steve was ecstatic that Bucky could actually heal, but Bucky himself seemed completely indifferent. He didn’t think it was a big deal, often shrugging it off whenever Steve started gushing to him about how amazing it was.

Just like a few weeks later after Steve’s miraculous recovery from pneumonia.

Steve had gotten into a fight once again with the same two assholes as before, and when he opened the door greeting Bucky with a broken and bloody nose, Bucky just groaned and swore out loud.

“I’m starting to think you’re getting yourself injured _on purpose,_ ” he grumbled before waving Steve to sit on the couch.

Steve gratefully sunk into the old and battered thing, soft and uneven in some areas.

Instead of getting the first aid kit, Bucky just filled up a jug with fresh water and scooted over to Steve’s side.

“Not my fault,” Steve protested, and Bucky simply gave him a look.

And then – Steve would never cease to be amazed by Bucky’s magic – with a simple flex of Bucky’s wrist, a blob of water rose from the jug.

Bucky’s eyes started to shine ice-blue, and the water bubble glowed in response, in a similar shade of blue.

A twist, and the water waded through the air, like an autumn leaf swept by the wind, before resting on Steve’s swollen nose.

Steve huffed in relief at the coolness of the water, feeling the pain slowly ebb away as Bucky’s gentle magic seeped in, repairing torn vessels and stitching back the cartilage and bone.

After just a few minutes, the water was raised away and dumped out of the window, and Bucky’s eyes returned to its softer, usual shade.

“It’s incredible. _You’re_ incredible,” Steve couldn’t help but say, all while prodding his nose gently in amazement.

His nose wasn’t completely healed (healing it completely would take too much out from Bucky, they were more vigilant now especially after that one time Bucky fainted after trying to completely mend a broken rib). It was achy in some areas, but the majority of the pain and blood was gone.

“It’s no big deal.” Bucky shrugged it off.

“It is though,” Steve insisted, lips curling into a smile.

“Is not.”

“Is.”

“Not.”

“It is!” Steve said defiantly, and Bucky sighed.

“You punk. Stop arguing with me. I swear I only got these dumb powers because somebody has to save your stupid ass every time you get hurt,” Bucky mumbled, voice rough with exhaustion.

Steve cracked a smile and then patted Bucky’s shoulder.

“Thanks Buck.”

Bucky said nothing else, merely motioned Steve aside from the couch and curled in, pressing his head into that one spot on the couch that still had enough stuffing inside to actually pass off as a cushion.

“I’ll wake you later,” Steve promised.

Bucky made a sound in acknowledgement, and within a minute, he was out, eyes shut and snoring softly.

Healing always took a lot from him, but both of them found that sleep - a lot of sleep - was usually enough to restore whatever magic was drained out from him in the process.

Steve pattered to Bucky’s room to retrieve his blanket, gently covering Bucky up to his neck, and then smiling at the way Bucky looked completely at peace, without that wrinkle in his forehead that sunk in whenever Steve displeased him in some way.

Steve pushed away a strand of Bucky’s fringe that was covering his eye, letting his touch linger for a long second.

Bucky may refuse to acknowledge how special he was, but that was okay, because Steve would always be there to remind him, over and over.

Maybe one day Bucky would finally believe him.

\----------

Their peace was short-lived, because war eventually came.

Men were drafted into the army left and right, except for Steve, who was immediately rejected with his crippling list of medical conditions and disappointing status as a null.  

And soon, it was Bucky’s turn to fill up the enlistment form.

Steve was peeking in from the side, watching Bucky fill up everything.

He wrote the answers as expected, all the way until he went on to the section on ‘Magic Abilities’, which consisted of a full two pages.

Bucky’s pen wavered over the line, pausing for a long time, before the pen started moving again, writing a firm ‘null’ over the line and skipping the rest of the section.

Steve didn’t even need to ask why.

They both knew how the army made use of soldiers who manifested powerful magical abilities. Powerful magic users were hoarded like precious gemstones, their abilities weaponised for war, for murder. Steve had seen them parading about in the streets with that shiny purple collar pin, marking them as the magic elite. They garnered instant respect wherever they went, yes, but every time Bucky walked past them, Steve always noticed his friend’s lips tightening into a thin line.

Bucky had never liked the idea of using magic for harm. He knew how easy it was to succumb to the sheer power of magic, using it to subdue people, assert dominance, _hurt_ others.

It was just wrong.

Plain and simple.

Bucky saw his magic as a blessing. His magic was gentle and kind and soft, and Steve knew that he’d rather die than to see his beautiful powers be tainted by the gruesome horrors of war.

James Buchanan Barnes would go to war, but he would fight on his own terms. 

“Stay safe,” Steve said.

Bucky flashed a smile at that, settling his completed form down and drawing Steve into a big hug. Steve obliged of course, gripping him a tad bit tighter than he normally would.

“I will,” Bucky murmured back, his own arms tightening around Steve.

Bucky knew, surely, that nulls were discriminated against, bullied, and basically treated worse than dirt (like Steve had proved to him with countless cuts and bruises), and the thought of having Bucky go through all that just like him…

Steve would rather take every single beating and verbal insult for him than let his best friend suffer for _nothing_.

Steve’s fingers curled up into a fist, gathering the fabric of Bucky’s shirt into a tight ball.

“Make sure you eat well,” Bucky said, “And the weather’s getting pretty cold so you’d better wear that new sweater I got you-”

“You mean _stole?_ ”

“-The sweater I _borrowed_ for you.”

Steve sniggered at that.

“Oh, and most importantly,” Bucky paused. “Stay out of trouble, you. Don’t go running into fights. And-”

Bucky pulled back with an exhale, eyes narrowing at Steve.

“Definitely don’t. _Don’t_ go trying to enlist. Again.”

Steve bit back his immediate protest, deciding to nod instead. Bucky just stared back knowingly, eyes narrowing further. 

It’s just –

They’ve been arguing about this for weeks now, nights and nights of heated words and half-hearted insults (that they always apologised for when things calmed down), and Steve was just too tired of trying to explain himself to Bucky when he simply didn’t understand.

“Really, I won’t,” Steve reassured with a smile when Bucky still didn’t let go.

A moment passed with the two staring at each other, before Bucky finally sighed.

He patted Steve’s shoulder one last time before turning around and walking out of the door, all while Steve stared at the forms clutched in Bucky’s hands, and then remembering his own forms, all stamped with that damnable ‘4F’.

A fire was set alight once again within Steve, an angry flame that refused to be extinguished, refused to be trampled.

Perhaps New Haven didn’t work the last time, but there were still countless other cities Steve could go to and try, like Paramus - which was starting to seem like a very promising choice for his next attempt - and if that didn’t work, Steve could always find another city. And another. And another. As many as it would take.

He couldn’t possibly fail every single one, could he?

Eventually one would succeed.

It _had_ to.

Steve once again thought of all the rejects he’d gotten and sighed out loud.

All he really needed…was a chance.

He wasn’t like Bucky, he was tiny, sickly. He didn’t even have an ounce of magic in him to validate his existence.

But the thing was: It was never a matter of validation. It was never about him. Steve was just Steve and he didn’t need to prove anything. 

It was about fighting for what’s right, and the only way Steve could see himself doing that was out there in the battlefield fighting, smeared with mud and bathed in gunpowder. Good men (and _Bucky_ \- Steve’s lips tightened at the thought of something happening to his best friend) were sacrificing their lives for the war, fighting for justice, freedom, and Steve needed to do his part.

The real bullies were out there, forcing their poisonous ideals onto others, taking innocent lives, and even if he could do so little, even if he couldn’t run a mile without triggering an asthma attack, he still _had_ to do something more than support the war in ‘spirit’.

And that was what Bucky couldn’t understand.

Steve _needed_ to do this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed the interactions between Bucky and Steve :)


	3. Training

Steve’s one chance came in the form of Dr Erskine.

His entire life changed after that.

Waking up at dawn, running a million laps, practicing drills and eating rations (that tasted blander than boiled cabbage, which was a feat Steve didn’t even think was possible), his life got a whole lot harder. Asthma attacks became a daily occurrence, as did the usual unimaginative insults and bullying.

This squad was special, the men in it all exceptional in some way, and only Steve and two other people didn’t have the coveted purple pin, but even those two had knacks of some kind. Still magic, even if their gift manifested in ways that proved useless in combat.

No mock training drill ended without a few explosions here and there, the majority of the damage being caused by a man named Gilmore Hodge. Nobody knew if his powers were fire-based, or air-based, or anything really. It was just a huge “boom” (almost like the man’s ego), and everything in a ten foot radius would be turned to smithereens.

He was the loudest of the bunch (and the meanest, if Steve was being completely honest). Steve’s impression of him had changed little since his first meeting with the man, where he made some rude remarks to Agent Carter, and he was still one of the main people Steve couldn’t help but dislike in the squad.

He had almost been caught in some of Hodge’s “accidental” explosions before, the dust often triggering an asthma attack, but in a strange, warped way, he couldn’t seem to blame the man for causing him so much grief. 

He was here by chance, first and foremost. He knew that the squad he’d been assigned to was special, and there were only so few of them chosen to be part of it. His position here in the squad was never earned, not like the rest, so how could he blame Hodge for feeling the slightest bit of resentment towards him? His spot was undeserved.

Nevertheless, here he was, whether anyone liked it or not and if he were to take the spot of somebody deemed worthy of whatever Erskine and the officers had in mind, the least he could do was to make sure he did everything he could to uphold himself to the very standards somebody in his exact position would have done. There were so many that would kill to be in Steve’s place, and damn it all if he was going to waste this only chance of his.

He would not give this up. 

So he trained, studied and worked harder than everyone else, made up for his lack of physical and magical strength with sheer force of will.

Once, after a particularly brutal training session that left everyone panting, lying on the floor too exhausted to move, Hodge felt the need to make Steve’s already terrible day slightly more terrible.

Steve was in the showers alone, so ready to rid his body of all that grime and mud.

He’d purposely waited for everyone else to finish washing up first before even thinking about going in, because fighting with the whole bunch of them for the limited hot water just wasn’t worth it to him. Besides, it also meant that nobody would tease him for his scrawny build or hide his clothes and force him to walk out naked, which was always good.

Steve had sighed, pulling off his sweat-soaked clothes and dumping them aside.

Before his hands could even touch the tap, the air around him heat up by a few degrees, and he heard a soft sucking sound, the few tell-tale signs Steve learnt to recognise before-

He threw himself back just as the explosion erupted.

There was a loud clapping sound, like thunder, and the air shifted, spontaneously combusting in that strange miasma of magical energy Hodge could create.

Sniggers were heard somewhere in the distance, and Steve sighed once more.

It was a small explosion, thankfully, because Hodge could get away with many things, but causing actual injury to a fellow soldier was an easy way to get himself dismissed from the army. 

Still-

Hasn’t he had enough? They may never grow to respect Steve (he didn’t need their respect anyway), and Steve would never be able to match their physical and magical prowess, but weren’t they still all in this together?

There was an actual _war_ going on, lives being lost, families torn apart and here they all were playing stupid pranks and childish tricks, completely forgetting the fact that they were meant to be soldiers instead of glorified mannequins donning that ridiculous purple pin.

For fuck’s sake, they were being trained for war! To go out there and put their lives on the line just like what _Bucky_ was probably doing in this exact moment and all their tiny brains could seem to focus on was making Steve’s life as miserable as possible?!

Steve had the sudden urge to break something, filled with too much frustration than his tiny body could possibly hold.

Because for once in his darn life, he just wanted to be strong. He wanted to show the rest of them that he wasn’t somebody to be messed with and actually be able to _prove_ it. He craved it, wanted it, needed to, just for once in his life, let them suffer as much as he had and - 

Bucky’s face came to mind, dark hair and bright eyes.

Bucky had all the power but chose to be a null, and he excelled anyway as a skilled sniper, proving just how capable he was, and here Steve was with his dark disgusting poisonous thoughts-

Steve flinched as if Bucky was really here, and all those terrible thoughts instantly vanished, replaced with a cold wave of guilt.

No.

He couldn’t sink down to their level. He wouldn’t be like them. Steve needed to be better than that.

Steve closed his eyes and took a deep breath in.

Yes, he was better than this.

\----------

One morning saw them running endlessly on a dirt path, past rows and rows of trees. Steve had no idea when he started running or how long it’s been, except that he could barely feel his feet anymore and it was sheer will that got him taking step after step.

“Squad, halt!”

Immediate relief filled Steve as he finally closed the gap with his squad, panting heavily and staring up at his officer.

“That flag means we’re only at the halfway point.”

And it was then did Steve lift his head to stare at the flag, a single black flag fluttering in the wind, propped up on a tall white flag pole.

Nearly everyone in the squad let out a groan, muttering quiet curses among them.

“First man to bring it to me gets a ride back with Agent Carter.”

Steve could already see Hodge and the others ready to pounce, when the officer raised an arm to stop them.

“I’ll have you know however, that this flag was put up by one of our most talented mages seventeen years ago. Fascinating chap, had the power to make anything he wrote on with a pen basically invulnerable. So he signed his name on the flag pole, made it basically invulnerable to explosions-” The officer nodded to Hodge at that. “-or magic of any kind.”

Everyone stared at the innocent pole dubiously. The officer smirked, before stepping aside.

“Feel free to try of course.”

They didn’t need any more encouragement. Steve watched as they scrambled for the pole with their sweaty palms like a horde of wild dogs, eyes glowing and magic-ready, eyeing the flag like a prized chunk of meat.

Everyone was hurtling magic at the pole, causing all kinds of destruction that quickly reminded Steve that the purple pin on their collars weren’t there for nothing.

Explosions went off, super-powered punches were thrown and globules of highly corrosive acid rained down from the sky as magic quickly saturated the air, and when the smoke cleared to reveal an undamaged flag pole amidst a charred wasteland, flag still proudly fluttering, they started shouting again.

And then, it was Hodge’s turn.

He waved everyone aside impatiently, all of them obliging because nobody, _nobody_ wanted to be caught in that clusterfuck of magical energy that could break through even the thickest barricade.

Hodge took a breath, eyes starting to glow a bright amber.

The air heated up, there was that sucking sound again, like preparing for a scream, and then-

The roar from the detonation and subsequent recoil knocked everyone to the ground, a large cloud of dust, ash and magic pouring down from the sky.

Steve winced at the explosion, his ears ringing, and when everything finally cleared minutes later, everyone could only gape in shock at the flag pole, still upright, still there, in the middle of a giant crater.

The officer smirked as he dusted off some dirt, completely unperturbed, before yelling,

“That’s enough! Now fall back in line! Come on, fall in!”

Everyone scrambled back on their feet, hustling back into formation, while Steve remained on the ground, eyes fixed on the base of the flag pole, still connected to the ground, completely unaffected.

“Rogers! I said fall in!”

Steve ignored him and stumbled towards the flag pole. The ground was radiating heat, the air thick with magical energy, but he went forward still, staring at the pins holding the ridiculous pole in place.

He had no magic, nothing he could hit or explode, and perhaps this flag pole was truly impervious to all kinds of magical energy, but magic was not everything. Ten percent of the world’s population were nulls like Steve, and if there was one thing he could do better than the other ninety percent, it was being able to solve problems without magic.

In spite of magic.

Steve scooted over to the flag, staring hard at the rusted pin. A sharp twist of a wrist made the rusted edges come free with a loud grating screech, and with another firm tug, the pin finally came loose. Steve dislodged it, throwing it aside. He then gave the pole a light push and stepped back, letting gravity do the rest.

There was complete silence around him as the pole came down, flag finally touching the floor.

Steve huffed in disbelief at that, going over to untie it and hand it over to his officer.

“Thank you sir.”

He didn’t look back as he climbed into the waiting vehicle, Agent Carter smirking back at him. Steve’s heart sped up instantly under the gaze of this gorgeous dame, and he smiled back shyly.

The truck started up, and Steve settled down, grateful to have a short reprieve away from all the training.

He peered up at Agent Carter, suddenly feeling very small.

He had not exchanged a single word with her since the very beginning, his interactions with her only limited to her shouting orders and glaring at them at a distance, but Steve still had immense respect for her.

Agent Carter had that purple pin on her collar (Steve had no idea what magic she had), but she had that similar lilt in her eye that Bucky had, not condescending or arrogant in any way. She treated everyone fairly despite of gender, size, colour or magic ability, and Steve admired that.

“So, Rogers, right?”

Steve flinched, eyes widening at being addressed. He nodded dumbly back, knowing how stupid he must look, and Agent Carter barked a laugh.

“Smart move you did back there.”

Steve blinked at her a few times, instantly thinking back to all the times that Bucky tried to introduce him to some lovely dames, claiming that he ‘needed experience of dealing with girls’ while Steve refused, scoffing each time.

Oh how did he regret it all now.

“Thank you ma’am,” Steve mumbled, eyes shifting about to basically everything except Agent Carter’s face.

Agent Carter chuckled once more, before turning back around and leaving Steve in blissful peace at the back of the truck, face flushed in a deep red.

He could already sense Bucky laughing at him in the distance, telling him “I told you so, you stupid punk”.

\----------

Another training session saw them put through constant drills since dawn, running laps, climbing, crawling, and Steve was positively exhausted.

He already had an asthma attack earlier, had to get excused for a while before joining back to yet another brutal string of physical torture, and just within a few minutes doing push-ups, Steve could feel his body giving way yet again, ready to break and melt into nothingness.

But Steve grit his teeth, ignored the piercing pain in his lung and the distant ache in his shoulders, pressing on.

“Faster, ladies! Come on,” Agent Carter said, although Steve could barely hear her past his own ragged breaths and pounding heart. “My grandmother has more life in her, god rest her soul.”

Steve sucked in a breath, pushed himself up, and back down again.

Everyone else around him was still going strong, enduring, and Steve had no excuse to give up. _Never_.

One more. And another. Another. Another.

Everything started to blur together, and after almost an eternity, when black dots started to gather at the peripheries of Steve’s vision, Agent Carter finally called,

“Up!”

They scrambled back up, started on jumping jacks. Steve heaved, unable to catch a full breath, but did the exercises as best he could.

Just move, Steve told himself. Just one more. Just one more. _Just one more._

Suddenly, a small dark object rolled in, bouncing off the sand, and Steve’s eyes snapped to it, tracking the sudden movement and-

“Grenade!”

It was as if time slowed and shut down all his senses except his eyes, fixed on the grenade.

His mind drew a complete blank, he saw nothing except the explosive, pin plugged free, primed, ready, and his body came alive with a sudden burst of energy.

Against every single survival instinct life had imbued him with, Steve found himself diving for the grenade, clutching it within his fingers and tightly drawing it up to his body, his only thought being: please don’t let anyone get hurt.

The grenade was cold, deceptively small, and a flash of paralysing fear washed over him, turning his body to ice as his mind finally caught up to what his body was doing.

Steve braced himself for the pain, closing his eyes.

Bucky appeared in his head. His mother.

His heart thundered in slow motion as seconds passed, dragged out to feel like an eternity.

…Nothing happened.

Steve blinked a few times when he registered his body as whole, limbs all attached, heart still pumping life into his vessels.

What..?

“It was a dummy grenade,” somebody said in the distance. “All clear. Back in formation.”

Still confused, Steve uncurled himself and looked up, finding Dr Erskine and Colonel Phillips standing there beside the box of dummy grenades, both staring down at him. Dr Erskine had a soft smile on his face, proud almost. Colonel Philips, on the other hand, looked less than pleased.

“Is this a test?” Steve found himself asking.

The two men didn’t grace him with an answer, exchanging a few words with each other before walking away, and Steve looked at them go in disbelief.

What the hell was that?

\----------

Steve got the news that very night. 

He was chosen for Project Rebirth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed it so far!!


	4. Project Rebirth

Steve was nervous, of course he was.

He was staring out of this large cylindrical tube, a bunch of needles ready to pump him full with this bright blue fluid – Dr Erskine’s serum – so who could blame his heart for thumping faster than usual, or that thick layer of sweat that had accumulated over his body like a second layer of skin?

Howard Stark – the legendary _Howard Stark_ himself - was in the same room with him, breathing the same air, and Steve would have definitely been more excited to meet him if not for the upcoming, potentially lethal procedure ahead. Perhaps later, after the procedure (if he survived), when he could finally wrap his head around meeting the man, he could maybe get an autograph or something for Bucky (Bucky would totally lose his mind if he were here right now). 

Then Dr Erskine came back into view, drawing Steve out from his thoughts as he flashed him a soft smile. Steve smiled back.

He liked the doctor. He was the one that saw something in Steve after all, past the asthma, heart problems and null status, and that in Steve’s mind, was more than enough to prove the goodness of the doctor’s gentle soul.

Steve had asked him why he was chosen yesterday; he was a null little asthmatic after all, but the doctor just smiled back at him, shrugging.

He talked about his time in Augsburg, about Schmidt, and the serum, how it amplified everything inside, good becomes great, and bad, worse.

Steve had looked up at that, still confused. If that was so, choosing _him_ of all people seemed…counterintuitive. He was a null, and how could the serum amplify something that _wasn’t_ there to begin with?

He had told the doctor so, and Dr Erskine just smiled. 

“Magic isn’t all that I’m looking for. There are other qualities that are far more important than that.” The doctor paused, then chuckled a little. “Besides, magic is fickle thing. Truly strange. Random and completely unpredictable with a billion permutations that completely disregards logical reason and everything we know about genetics. So who knows what the serum would do to it? You might remain a null, or maybe you won’t. Either way, it doesn’t matter-”

Dr Erksine reached out and clutched Steve’s hand, calmly meeting his gaze with a smile.

“You and I both know fully well being null doesn’t stop anyone from doing the same things any magic person can. Didn’t stop me. Didn’t stop you. And it shouldn’t.”  

Steve couldn’t help but grin back, already feeling an instant kinship with the doctor. Too often he had seen nulls use their lack of magic as an excuse to stagnate and waste away, to become exactly everything society expected them to be: homeless and begging on the streets. Steve was just glad this doctor wasn’t one of them.

Dr Erskine squeezed Steve’s hand once before letting go.   

“And that’s just another reason why you were chosen, Steven.”

Steve cocked his head to the side, blinking.  

“Because a strong man who has known power and magic all his life may lose respect for that power-”

Not Bucky, Steve immediately thought, but kept silent.

“-but a weak man born a null? He will know the value of true strength, and compassion.”

“Thanks…I think.”

There was a pause.

“But whatever happens tomorrow, you must promise me one thing-”

Steve met Dr Erskine’s eyes again.

“-That you will stay who you are. Not a perfect soldier, but a good man.”

_A good man._

Uttered with such gravity, and Steve paused for a few seconds to really consider what that meant, before nodding and swearing to do just that.

Then Dr Erskine held Steve’s gaze for a good ten seconds without saying anything, and whatever the good doctor saw in him finally made his lips loosen into a soft smile, shoulders relaxing, and that had been the end of their discussion for the day.

Now back in the lab, Steve found those same words repeating in his head, over and over like a prayer, as if those words would somehow erase every bit of fear and soothe his frazzled nerves.

It didn’t of course, and as the countdown started in the distance, slowly but inevitably inching its way down, Steve gulped, heart rate immediately skyrocketing just as the final zero was announced, and the needles jabbed straight in. 

Steve’s breath was caught midway in his throat at the sudden surge of pain, and he bit his lip as a cool liquid was pumped into his body, quickly replacing the stabbing pains with a searing, blistering one instead, slowly spreading through his whole body.

Steve gasped and grit his teeth, trying not to move. It was like his whole body was dipped in molten metal, fiery lava licking his body from within, slowly eroding him. 

“Now, Mr Stark,” Dr Erskine ordered. Steve barely heard it. His heart was roaring in his ears and the burning pain was making it hard to focus on anything else.

Steve felt the table he was on being moved, tilted, and soon enough, he was sealed in, cold, dark, his thoughts thrown into a whirlwind.

But just as quickly as he was thrown into the darkness, the chamber filled with light, unbelievably bright. Blinding. And growing brighter still.

Whatever was injected in him reacted to the light instantly, morphing, expanding his cells and growing even hotter.

The pain quickly became mind-melting, all-encompassing, disintegrating all of Steve’s thoughts, leaving him utterly incapable of doing anything apart from scream, anything to ease the unbearable pain that was corroding his body and mind away.

“SHUT IT DOWN!” Steve vaguely heard. A female voice, muffled by the thick chamber.

“Kill the reactor, Mr Stark!” Another voice said, clearer. “Turn it off! Kill it!”

“NO!” Steve cried out immediately. “Don’t. I can do this!”

Steve bit down on his lip after that, letting the fresh taste of blood distract him from the suffocating pain.

He could do this. He _would_.

The light grew brighter, brighter, and the pain, more intense, until-

Everything turned dark.

There was complete silence, and Steve drew a shaky breath, suddenly regaining sensation of his lungs, which were _still_ there, existing, attached to his body. As was his arm. Leg. Body. Everything intact.

Steve blinked once.

He licked his lips once, which was bloodless, not swollen in the slightest.

The chamber suddenly eased open, and Steve was immediately hit by a gush of fresh air, cooling his overheated skin.

He stumbled down from the chamber and blinked a few more times, heaving.

His body wasn’t burning anymore, cooled by the air in the room, but Steve could still feel the serum burrowing in, setting off tingles everywhere deeper in his body.

Steve blinked a few more times, trying to focus.

Everything seemed higher somewhat. Louder. Clearer. Colours were more vivid. As if he was given new eyes and ears altogether. And-

“How do you feel?” It was Agent Carter.

“Taller,” Steve huffed out, vision still swimming.

“You look taller.”

Steve accepted the shirt that Agent Carter offered, putting it on methodically as he blinked about, trying to regain his bearings.

His body felt too much, painless as well (which was to Steve, a completely foreign sensation up till this point), and it was like his arms and legs weren’t where they should be, they weren’t _his_ , but felt completely right at the same time, like they belonged there all along. It was so bizarre.

Congratulations and cheers filled the room, and as Steve’s vision cleared, becoming sharper and more vibrant, he started to notice how he could hear so much, make out each and every voice, every footstep, every rustle of fabric and more still.

“Rogers?”

Steve took a breath. He could hear it rush down to his lungs, expanding them, filling the tiny air sacs with fresh oxygen and if he concentrated enough, he could hear his own heartbeat, blood whooshing through his arteries, every single sound and oh god there were so many colours around him, so many scents too, sweat, metal, and-

“ _Steven!_ ” Agent Carter’s voice cut through all that noise and Steve snapped back to her, eyes meeting hers. She was as beautiful as ever, and Steve suddenly noticed all the small details on her face he never saw before, the colours, every strand of hair, everything much more vivid than he could ever remember. There was a thoughtful expression etched into her face as she leaned in, peering closely at Steve’s face, and Steve froze at the sudden scrutiny.

“What?”  

There was a pause.

“Steven…Your eyes are glowing.”

_What?_

He didn’t have time to think anything else, because a sickening gunshot resounded in the air, and Dr Erskine was toppling over, fresh patch of red blossoming in his chest. 

\----------

Steve’s pursuit of the attacker led him to down the streets, pushing Agent Carter out of the way of a speeding car (she yelled that it had been unnecessary, and Steve later found out that it was completely true, since she could shoot balls of plasma from her fingertips, melting anything in her path). Steve hopped over fences and even jumped _on top_ of cars, until he was hugging the roof of the taxi hijacked by the attacker, swinging from side to side to dodge stray gunshots.

Steve cursed internally as he ducked to the side to dodge another gunshot.

Everything was still overwhelming, the noise in the background, every detail and colour his eyes could catch, the crazy amount of smells around and of course, how strong his new body was, not just physically, but mentally as well. Just like how all his senses have been enhanced, his brain was similarly enhanced to cope with the increased load of information, taking in information and processing it faster than before.

It was too much, the change too abrupt. Steve’s world just expanded thrice-fold, as did his perspective, and it was just so hard to keep track of so many things going on at once.

But another gunshot broke through his thoughts and Steve hurled himself away, gritting his teeth hard as the taxi swerved to the side.

He needed to focus. Catching the attacker took precedence over everything else.

Another gunshot, Steve just barely shoved himself away before-

All momentum was brought to an immediate halt when the head of the taxi crashed into another car.

Steve’s fingers slipped, and he was tossed aside, rolling over a few times before crashing into the ground.

Pain blossomed all throughout and Steve groaned, head still spinning as he pushed himself up, shaking the last remnants of dizziness away.

The taxi had overturned in the distance, nestled in a fresh bed of shattered glass pieces. Black smoke started to billow out, and the car door was hastily kicked open. The attacker stumbled out, coughing once, then immediately catching sight of Steve.

Both of them froze, and the attacker whipped out his gun.

Steve’s heart immediately lurched, adrenaline flooding his body. There was nothing in sight he could use to shield himself, no cover to hide behind, he was a sitting duck here among all this broken glass and the only thing left that he could do was to slam his eyes close, throw his arms over himself and-

Something gave way in his body as a sudden pressure burst forth like a volcano erupting, spilling over.

A gunshot.

And another.

A breath, and Steve’s eyes flew open.

There was no pain. His whole body was racing, burning hot from the inside, and raised just above his arms – still shielded over his body - was a translucent blue wall, shimmering, extended across his body like a sheet of frosted glass.

Steve’s eyes widened, and another gunshot fired.

The bullet bounced off the sheet without even making a dent, its empty shell falling to the ground.

Steve’s jaw dropped.

“Fucking magic,” the attacker cursed once, making Steve’s eyes shoot up, and the attacker bolted off once more, darting through a crowd of people and disappearing past a corner.

There was no time to think, no time to ponder over what happened. Steve let his arms down, the large sheet vanishing when he did so, and he dashed after the shooter.

\----------

The shooter killed himself.

And all Steve learnt was:

_Hail Hydra._

\----------

Much later, Steve was at a table, trying to fade into a corner and avoid everyone.

So much had happened in a single day. The sweet kind doctor died in his arms, and his last unsaid words – be a good man – were still ringing in Steve’s head on constant repeat. All his senses were jacked up to eleven (literally), he was still trying to understand all the changes to his body and mind, and this wasn’t even including the whole thing about the attacker or whatever Hydra was or even-

Steve stared at his hands in disbelief.

- _Magic,_ apparently.

“So…”

Steve jerked up at the sudden noise, eyes meeting none other than Howard Stark himself, sauntering over towards him.

“I heard something _interesting_ happened back there?”

That particular lilt in his voice made Steve pause, staring back hard at Stark.

Bucky would often gush about the man, talking of all the amazing scientific marvels he invented, and Steve was not nearly half as obsessed with it like Bucky was, just interested at best, but he knew of the man’s genius and of his legendary machines. Stark was the pioneering expert in engineering, but lesser known to the rest (as Bucky liked to rave about excitedly), he was also an avid magic researcher. Technology versus magic was a constant debate, and Stark was one of the few that sat in the middle of it all, seeking to marry both together with his inventions.

“Thought you declared yourself a null,” Stark said, unusual emphasis on the ‘null’.

“I _am_. Had my blood tested when I was ten. Twice,” Steve insisted, making Stark raise an eyebrow questioningly.

“Strange. Those tests are usually pretty fool-proof.”

Steve knew that of course. He'd been told exactly that when his test results came back negative, condemned to live the rest of his life as a null since he was a young ten year old boy.

It had been a rash decision choosing to take the test then, Steve thought on hindsight. It may be a highly accurate test, but given how ninety percent of all people would develop magic anyway, most never bothered taking it. There was no point after all. But he had been ten, a furious ball of energy fresh out of school with bruises all over and eager to prove to the world he was going to grow up strong. Funny how he sort of ended up proving the opposite.

But now-

Steve stared at his hands once again, turning them over. They looked the same like always, larger maybe, but still the same. 

“Try doing it again,” Stark urged.

Steve was about to protest, to say “I don’t know how”, because he really didn’t, but just as he thought about it, he suddenly became acutely aware of a strange energy in his body that wasn’t there before, swelling at the base of his stomach like a pool of liquid fire. Almost like a new organ of some sort, with its own networks and intricacies connecting to his mind and body. And just like breathing or blinking, that energy - that _magic_ \- came to him naturally. Like Bucky explained to him a thousand times before, he didn’t need to learn to do it. He just did.

With a breath, a block of the same translucent blue was swiftly materialised in his palm, floating a few inches above it.

“Wow.” Stark bent down to inspect the block, before tapping it with a single finger.

The block didn’t even move, just stayed where it was above Steve’s outstretched palm.

“It’s really quite peculiar.” Stark tapped on the block a few more times, until Steve felt the magic give way in his body – the sensation almost like his ears popping - and the block flickered for a bit, before vanishing into thin air.

So it was official then.

He now had magic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading again and I hope you like where everything is going so far :)


	5. Learning

Steve took the shortest time ever recorded in history to get used to his powers and learn to control it properly.

Most of it was attributed to his newly enhanced body and mind, but jumping from accidentally destroying whole concrete rooms in his sleep to summoning objects effortlessly with a thought in just a single week was still highly impressive progress.

Next came testing his magic, and they quickly learnt that whatever Steve could create was completely unbreakable.

They tried everything.

It was magic-proof (it survived Hodge’s strongest explosion and Agent Carter’s scorching plasma balls). Also waterproof. Electric-proof. Even fire-proof (Steve had yelled at Stark in shock when he went to pick up a flaming hot piece of coal with his bare hands, but Stark showed little concern for it, later revealing that his magic was that his hands were invulnerable to heat). Untouchable even by physical force, punches and kicks, driving a car into and over it, and every kind of bullet known to man. Whatever Steve could make was basically invulnerable – a new standard of invulnerability according to Stark.

And Steve could create _anything_ out of it. A blade, a wall, a sphere, as long as Steve could visualise it, he could create it.

But that wasn’t to say that his magic was completely unlimited.

Things with complex or more precise shapes were hard to create and sustain, and large objects could only grow as large as Steve could imagine them, while overtly small objects like thread and powder would just flicker and fade away. 

His magic also depended on focus. It wasn’t like other similar magics that could summon things from thin air and have them stay there permanently. Objects he made faded when he was asleep or if he was sufficiently distracted.

The properties of his magic were also mostly unalterable. He could change the colour and opacity of his magic, but he couldn’t make it become a liquid or turn to gas, and he certainly couldn’t turn his magic soft or flexible in any way. It would always be a solid, unyieldingly hard.

“It’s a very peculiar form of matter magic,” Stark described it one day during lunch after a long morning of being holed up in his lab testing Steve’s magic.

They spent weeks in the lab, and as time went by with more lunches spent eating together, eventually ‘Stark’ became ‘Howard’ in Steve’s head, and the two became good friends.

Steve asked him once why he suddenly manifested his magic despite being null for as long as he could remember, and Howard just shrugged.

“Guess the serum did more than change your body. Magic is just… _magic_. Even after centuries of research, nobody knows it any better than our ancestors did, centuries ago. I don’t think there will ever be an explanation for what happened.”

Steve had frowned at that. That was barely even an answer, but Howard continued.

“But perhaps – and this is just my hypothesis – your body before was well…physically lacking, and my guess is that magic just didn’t manifest because your body wouldn’t have been able to handle it. But the serum changed your body, made it possible to house all that power, and therefore, _magic_.”

Steve sighed, but accepted it as that and moved on.

\----------

With his newfound magic and fresh new glowing eyes (which he found out glowed a deep shade of blue, hues darker than Bucky’s icy-blue), Steve was given the purple pin and immediately taken up to be trained for war in an elite magic squad. 

He hated every moment of it, understanding fully well why Bucky chose to declare himself null. It was part individual training and team training, but everything about it was about refining magic to be weaponisable, killable, lethal. There was nothing honourable or ethical about what he was being trained for; magical warfare was just as controversial as biological warfare, and even though it was war and elite magic squads were standard routine, there were still lines he just wouldn’t cross.

He had joined the army to fight and protect, not to become an attack hound for killing, and certainly not to abuse his magic for murderous means.

Steve had his matter magic, and they tried to train him to create guns and invulnerable ammunition (think of the possibility of a renewable gun with unlimited ammunition, completely invulnerable to every force known to man, they had told him).

It didn’t work out very well.

Simple shapes were easy to create because they were easy to visualise, but guns with countless components with their own specific purposes were basically impossible to construct even with Steve’s enhanced brain (or perhaps, more secretly, Steve just never really _tried_ to do it).

But unfortunately for Steve, daggers and knives came under the family of ‘simple hard shapes’, and after they tried and failed to get Steve to create guns and more lethal weaponry, they shifted their attention to training him in all things knife-related.

It still felt wrong using his magic like that, and after an unsettling training session with straw-filled dummies and actual human faces printed on paper and pasted on the heads, Steve retired to his bunk early to lie on his bed, claiming magic exhaustion.

He just couldn’t bring himself to do whatever the army wanted him to do. They were grooming him to be a secret weapon, a trump card of sorts, to eventually lead a small group of elite magic soldiers, but every part of him simply refused to do so. 

Magic was a blessing, many saw it as god’s gift, but to Steve, it was supposed to stand for something more. Steve had been a null for most of his life, he had always seen magic used in so many ways, for convenience, self-gain, all sorts of heinous things, but he’d also glimpsed beauty in it, in _Bucky’s_ magic.

Bucky had control over water itself, and its applications should have been beyond versatile, but Bucky chose to keep his powers a secret. Nobody knew of his amazing abilities apart from Steve and his family. And even in the privacy of their home, Bucky still barely used his powers. Even for simple things like refilling an empty jug of water, cleaning up spills or fixing leaks (which Bucky could have solved with a mere flick of his hand), he chose to do things the old-fashioned way instead, without magic. And when Bucky _did_ use his powers, it was often never for himself, but for others. He would heal Steve, clean his paintbrushes and palettes for him when he was out, and sometimes, when Steve was in a bad mood, he would often head to the bathroom to take a nice long shower and clear his thoughts, only to find adorable colourful little bubble animals floating about, waving their bubbly paws at him when he walked in. It always made Steve laugh, whatever bothering him at that time all forgotten.

Steve smiled at the thought.

Bucky always saw his magic as something more, not just a tool. To him, magic was something more than life itself. He saw beauty in it, used it to bring joy, to help, and most importantly: to _protect_.

Something immediately lit up in Steve at that thought and he pushed himself upright on the bed.

Yes. That was it.

Protect.

And with that, he knew what he had to do.

All the other training sessions involving magical sharp objects went poorly, knives shattering halfway through their trajectory or vanishing completely.

His officers were immediately suspicious when Steve started to insist that he couldn’t do it, but Steve just glared back each time, daring them to challenge him. 

Instead, Steve started to fashion using a nice round shield with such impossibly mathematically perfect curves as if a machine made them (which probably clued in his superiors that his serum-enhanced brain was in fact a lot more capable than Steve let them think it was). He trained himself to use it of course as a shield, but also as a hard frisbee delivering concussive blows to people or piercing blows through walls depending on how hard he concentrated.

He found other uses for his magic too, creating strange pieces of colourful art during his free time, even breaking falls from near lethal heights by concentrating magic at his soles.

His superiors weren’t pleased, but when Steve passed all their training exercises flawlessly and started performing feats that largely outclassed even their best guns, they begrudgingly let it go.

And as Steve went through the exercises over and over, he started to discover something else.

He didn’t know what it was at first, since the serum enhanced his all his senses and everything was strange initially but-

There was just this constant... _smell_ in the air.

He didn’t really know how to describe it. It didn’t smell like anything he had ever smelled before. Something like-

“Burnt,” Steve had tried explaining to Agent Carter once. “There’s always this…burnt smell. Like plastic or paper something.”

“…A burnt smell?” Agent Carter raised an eyebrow. “I don’t smell anything.”

“That’s what everyone tells me but-”

“Well Steve, you can see better than anyone else, hear better too so I don’t think it’s that strange if you can smell things better too.”

Steve opened his mouth to protest, because this was different from all that. He was indeed able to smell better, but he could always trace the origin of the scent to something. There was always a reason for the scent to exist.

This burnt smell however, seemed to just…be there, constantly changing throughout the day – that as Steve slowly realised, followed a pattern: it was always muted in the early mornings but laid on heavy at night time.

At first he thought maybe something was making that smell, something that maybe worked only at night, which was why the smell was the strongest then.

Maybe electric lights then. They were only turned on at night, hardly ever in the day. It made sense.

But there were things that didn’t add up.

The lights were off during the day, which should correlate to there being no smell at all, but the smell was still there, just weaker. And if the lights were truly the cause of the smell, it should get stronger the closer he got to the lights, but the intensity of the scent never changed, just remained as normal.

So it wasn’t the lights then.

Steve then went about the entire army barracks, visiting every crook and cranny trying to locate the smell. But the scent was always ever-changing, sometimes popping up randomly, and Steve could never manage to trace it to any particular object, although he discovered it was definitely weaker in some places, in particular the toilets (but in all honesty, the toilets had another whole string of unpleasant scents that probably just overpowered this burnt smell). Steve also found certain areas the scent stayed consistently stronger, specifically the training fields outside and oddly enough, a few particular chairs in the office area.

Naturally, that led Steve to believe the scent didn’t come from some _thing_ , but rather, some _one_.

But once again, there were things that didn’t add up.

There were no obvious links between the people whose chairs had the strongest scents. One was a simple administrative officer, another was an active elite magic squad leader, and the last one was an older general. All different in ages, having completely different routines too.

But Steve was certain he was missing something critical here. There had to be some sort of connection somewhere. The scent simply couldn’t be random, there had to be a good explanation for it.

Then on his next available opportunity, Steve took his little investigation outside the camp. So far he’d only noticed the scent in the camp, but was it everywhere else in the city or was it only localised in the camp? That might give him some answers.

Turned out his little trip only raised even more questions.

The scent was absolutely _everywhere_ , flaring up seemingly randomly. It was at the flower shop, down an alley, outside a restaurant, and countless other places.

Steve started to get a little frustrated, and after walking about the town for a whole day with no answers to be found, he settled down at a bench nearby and tried to get his thoughts in order. Where was this scent coming from? What was it? Why could he not figure out what it was? He only started to smell this after the serum, but Steve was certain the scent must have existed before the serum, just that he couldn’t smell it. And yet when he had the chance to talk to somebody with magic that enhanced her sense of smell, she’d just given him a strange look when he asked about this burnt smell in the air. He couldn’t be hallucinating all this, could he? It would be a pretty elaborate hallucination, for it to follow some very specific patterns yet be completely random in its ‘flare-ups’.

There had to be something causing it, it’s just that Steve simply couldn’t figure it out yet.

Just then, the scent suddenly exploded to life again, the distinct burnt smell making Steve frown.  

Steve’s eyes roamed up, falling on a group of older kids – maybe about sixteen or seventeen years old – playing stickball on the street, laughing and cheering.

Steve sighed again, watching them run about. Again another random flare-up with no obvious cause or reason, but he guessed it was still nice to see kids still having fun on the streets despite the war brewing on.

He remembered playing stickball sometimes back when he was still a kid with Bucky, normally at first when they were very young, but as everyone grew up and started developing magic, magic gradually became part of the game, incorporating itself into the rules to make matches more interesting. Kids with useful magic were always invited to play, and conversely, that meant Steve was never invited anymore. But he didn’t really care then, because Bucky also refused to play with any of them, preferring to stick to Steve’s side and play on their own. God they created so many silly games to entertain themselves back then.

Steve found himself smiling, and then looking up at the oldest kid of the bunch with a nest of brunet hair just like Bucky. He had both feet firmly planted to the ground, tongue stuck out slightly in concentration as he raised his broomstick with one hand and bounced a tiny ball with the other. He even kind of looked like Bucky too.

The boy’s eyes started glowing bright green, the light transferring itself to the broomstick, similarly surrounded in green. The other kids started cheering, and the boy finally struck the ball, immediately throwing his stick down and running.

Steve’s smile widened as the ball went shooting across the street as a quick blur. That was a good shot, even if it was still helped by the boy’s magic somehow. He definitely had some skills.

Then that burnt smell recaptured his attention again, now with the strangest note of something sickly sweet, like cough syrup, growing so pungent it made Steve wrinkle his nose. God, not only was this stupid scent found absolutely everywhere with no way to predict when it was going to flare up, now it was being damn right unpleasant. Distracting too.

Steve sighed inwardly, trying to focus on the boy again, eyes already fading into a soft brown as he came jogging back, picking up the stick and the ball again, the other kids cheering him on.

Another crack. The ball was sent flying, and Steve wrinkled his nose again, groaning.

When would this stupid smell go away?

The kids continued screaming, and when the boy came running back again, now panting a little, their cheers grew louder.

The boy returned to his usual position, with his legs slightly apart as he prepared to strike again. His eyes started to glow green, ball bouncing and stick raised high up and ugh-

Steve rubbed at his nose, now freshly irritated.

This stupid smell and wherever the hell it came from should just-

A crack.

And the ball flew across the street for the third time, the kids shouting and still as excited as they had been the very first time.

Now the fourth time the boy came back, readying himself, and Steve was ready to completely explode when the smell slammed into him again, just as strong as ever.

The kids were just playing stickball, it was nothing special. Why the hell was this scent acting up, over and over? What on earth did _stickball_ have in common to the fields in the camp, or night time, or the three people in the office that-

Another crack, and Steve found his eyes snapping back up to the boy, dashing off with eyes still gleaming green but rapidly retracting back to brown and-

_Oh my god._

The green. Then back to brown. Green. Brown. The glowing green, then soft brown. And the smell that came on and off, on and off.

Of course. How the hell did he not figure this out sooner?!

Magic.

He was smelling _magic_.

\----------

Steve didn’t go about bragging about his newfound skill to everyone, wanting to learn more about his skill by himself first.

He learnt that he couldn’t smell his own magic when used, but could smell everyone else’s magic instead.

So that’s why the fields always stunk of it, because they always did training exercises there, and whenever there were training exercises, there was magic. And that was why the scent was strongest at the end of the day after so much magic use, but weakest in the morning, right when everyone just woke up. And maybe that’s why the toilets smelled the least as well. Nobody was using magic in the toilet, and maybe all that showering and soaping was helping to get rid of that smell too.

He learnt that those three people with that strong magic scent used their magic most frequently at their office table, which was why their chairs constantly smelled like magic. The administrative officer could sharpen pencils with a touch, the magic squad leader could enhance his concentration to do work, and the elderly general could create words on a page with a tap.

Everything started to make sense, and as Steve continued to explore his ability, he learnt that the burnt smell he’d come to attribute to magic wasn’t exactly a singular smell, more like a _mixture_ of smells.

He discovered that everyone’s magic smelled slightly different. They all had the similar base smell – one that Steve couldn’t describe as anything else other than burnt plastic – but each and every one of them had a different flavour to the scent.

Howard’s smelled like erasers, Agent Carter’s smelled like sizzling meat, and Steve gradually learnt to incorporate this ability into his training exercises, predicting when and whose magic was being used at any point in time.

That made him ridiculously good at completing those training exercises, and as a final challenge, they put him up against a whole magic squad all by himself.

It was a tad bit much, even for Steve, and he had managed to disarm half of the squad before being quickly overwhelmed, hiding behind a tree with nowhere to escape.

He could smell the agent capable of near superhuman strength to his left, trying to uproot a tree to hurl at him. Another agent to his right, able to fly, attempting to zoom in from behind and take him by surprise. And another two more agents further away, shooting at him with their magic projectiles.

Steve took down the flying agent and disarmed the other with a throw of his shield, managing to gain some ground before he was forced behind yet another tree, hiding away from a fresh barrage of projectiles.

One that shot fire. Another that shot spikes. Two of them.

That left the team leader – whose takedown would instantly guarantee a victory – nowhere to be seen.

Seen, that is.

He may have magic of invisibility, but Steve had an unfair advantage, able to smell him absolutely everywhere, magic bouncing back and forth and betraying his position.

Steve kept himself still, concentrating on that scent, and when it got closer, and closer, now mere steps away from Steve, he finally struck out, charging out with his shield drawn and slamming straight into the team leader.

The poor man went down with a yelp, magic snapping as he came back into view, and the match was declared over.

Steve won. Singlehandedly.

He was promoted to Captain, but even with all that work, they still refused to send him into the field.

“You have to understand, you are our trump card. A secret weapon. To reveal you too early would be detrimental to our plans.”

“People are _dying_. I have to do something,” Steve had snapped back, glowering at the colonel.

There had been news of trouble down at the frontlines, and Steve had once again barged into the tent to demand his officers to send him out to fight, but they were insistent on keeping him delegated to the side-lines, to sit there and watch helplessly as the medic van delivered in droves and droves of casualties.

They were all people that could have been saved, and Steve had watched as one van became two, two became three, and three became four, and then Steve couldn’t bear to count anymore, storming into the tent again to yell at the colonel.

But the colonel just looked back at him with a thin-lipped expression. He’d heard Steve’s argument a million times over, and even though Steve had proven time and time again that he was combat-ready, his request was still denied.

“I’m sorry, but there’s nothing I can do,” the colonel said back.

Steve heard the obvious dismissal and marched out of the tent with his fists clenched, ignoring the curious gazes of soldiers nearby and marched towards some supply crates nearby, choosing one that looked sturdy enough and settling down.

He opened his sketchbook and pulled out a pencil, drawing bold, thick lines across the page while trying to rein in his temper, and he had just about calmed down when he saw a shadow in front of him, dark and unmoving, with no signs of going away.

He looked up.

It was Peggy Carter with not a hair out of place, and Steve smiled a little in greeting, shutting his sketchbook.

“Steve.” She nodded at him with a soft smile. “Causing more trouble again?”

Steve shrugged at that, and Peggy continued, gesturing to Steve’s neck.

“And I see you’re not wearing your purple pin again. It’s a punishable offence, you do realise.”

“That’s the least of my concerns,” Steve scoffed.

“Not being a good role model, are you, _Captain America?_ ”

Steve just groaned at that, shaking his head.

He remembered blushing red the first time he heard that nickname, and after questioning basically everyone to find out where this nickname came from, he was appalled to find out that it was _Peggy Carter_ herself that christened him that, and everyone seemed more than happy to go along with whatever the fiery woman wanted (much to Steve’s dismay).

It had been from a training exercise, where Steve’s team was heavily outnumbered, ducking from heavy gunfire and magical bombardments (all non-lethal of course).

They needed a diversion immediately – Steve could smell an imminent magic explosion coming that would no doubt decimate his team - and he needed to do something quick.

So he had the idea to use his shield as a distraction, imbuing all sorts of ridiculous colours on it to draw the other team’s attention before launching a swift and hard attack to take them down.

It worked of course, because everyone’s eyes were glued to the shield painted with the most outlandish design ever (it wasn’t Steve’s fault that the first, most glaring, distracting thing he could think of was the American flag), and that short distraction was enough for Steve’s team to gain the advantage and win.

And rumours said that Agent Carter – now Peggy to Steve – had allegedly burst out laughing from the sidelines upon seeing it, yelling out ‘Captain America’ and laughing again, shocking basically everyone. She was notoriously known for having as many facial expressions as a stone statue after all, that is to say, a singular, unchanging expression that said ‘don’t underestimate me’ and ‘don’t come near me’ all in one.

“So, what’s bothering you?”

Steve studied Peggy’s face, meeting her brown eyes. Often perceived as intimidating at first, but were actually filled with much kindness and patience, Peggy gave off a certain kind of energy that reminded Steve of Bucky, powerful but disciplined, quiet but with a heart of gold.

“You know, for the longest time, I dreamed about this. Serving my country, fighting for what’s right.” Steve shook his head. “Here I am finally with everything I wanted, and they stick me here to rot.”

Peggy said nothing, and Steve’s eyes fell on yet another incoming medic van, rushing in and unloading the latest haul of casualties. Every soldier lost meant a grieving mother and a broken family. 

“They won’t even tell me what happened, said I didn’t need to know. Said it wouldn’t change anything,” Steve added with some scorn before sighing again. “But all these soldiers died for something, all with real lives and real family, and they won’t even let me know _what_ they died for.”

Peggy considered him for a long while, before finally,

“It was Schmidt. He sent a very powerful elite magic squad to Azzano. Two hundred of our men went up against them, and less than fifty returned,” Peggy explained, her voice softening. “Whoever you see here is the remainder of the 107th.”

Steve’s eyes shot up at that.

The 107th.

That was Bucky’s squad.

 _Bucky’s_ squad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second update in a week! :) 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and I really hope you enjoy where the story is going so far!


	6. Reunion

They said they weren’t planning a rescue mission.

They said that Schmidt’s elite magic squad was beyond powerful, more powerful than anything they’ve ever faced, and that the prisoners were held thirty miles behind the most heavily fortified areas in Europe.

They said the mission wasn’t worth it, because they would lose more men than gain.

Steve didn’t care.

If he was going up against a whole army by himself, so be it.

\----------

It was night when Steve arrived at the enemy’s camp (courtesy of Howard and Peggy’s help).

The place was heavily guarded, swarming with soldiers everywhere, and Steve quickly readied his shield, its familiar weight sinking down onto his arm. The reflective glassy texture and neon blue was glaringly obvious from the distance, but with a simple thought, the glow died away, replaced by a muted black.

The guards all held glowing weaponry that basically reeked of magic, the same kind even, which meant that they came from the same source, but what gave Steve genuine chills was that the magic felt… _empty_.

It still had the normal burnt smell Steve had gotten used to smelling by now, but that was it. Nothing layered over it. It was like it didn’t even come from a living person. It felt…dead. _Dangerous_.

He kept his distance from the soldiers and took down those he couldn’t avoid by stealth instead, hiding their bodies away before promptly moving on. They wouldn’t remain knocked out for long, and the last thing Steve needed was for an entire army to come down looking for him with their strange magic guns.

He needed to find where the prisoners were being held, and fast.

Steve knocked out another two more guards before he finally reached the cells, and he took the keys off one of the unconscious guards, hurriedly freeing the prisoners as quietly as he could, eyes on the constant lookout for that signature ruffled mess on the head that Bucky called hair.   

He looked, and looked, but nothing could prepare him for the way his entire heart sunk and shattered into pieces when he realised Bucky wasn’t in any of the cells. The hope that had been stubbornly flickering bright was brutally stamped out in a single second, and the pain that followed left Steve utterly breathless, as if he was having another serious bout of pneumonia and an asthma attack combined.

And then one of the soldiers directed him to the isolation ward located at the other end of the factory, warning him that nobody came back from that place.

But Steve didn’t care. He dashed out instantly. He took down a few more guards on his way there before absolute chaos broke out, rapid gunfire and shouts breaking the eerie silence in the air. Steve gave up all pretence of stealth after that, reverting to full-on combat mode with his glowing blue shield, reflecting blows and knocking down waves of enemies as he charged forth.

Soon enough, the isolation ward came into view, and Steve had to stop and force himself to take a deep breath before entering, even though the serum basically made his stamina limitless.

At first, there was complete silence, no signs of life anywhere, and Steve’s heart turned cold. He couldn’t do this again, he couldn’t lose Bucky, not him, and then –

“…Sergeant. 3-2-5-5-7-”

Steve’s eyes snapped up at the form lying on the table, twitching a few times, but still very much alive.

“Bucky?” Steve flew forth to the table where Bucky was on, taking in his friend’s ragged appearance, ashen white face, unfocused eyes and-

“Oh my god.”

He ripped off the straps tying Bucky down with a loud growl.

How dare they-

_Hurt-_

Steve’s shield flickered once and disappeared as he let out a strangled gasp, reaching forth with his shaky fingers to touch Bucky, make sure he’s _real_.

But Bucky flinched hard. His eyes instantly widened in alarm and glowed a bright blue in warning, smell of salt soaking into the air. Steve quickly withdrew his hand.

“Hey, it’s me.” Steve’s voice dropped to a low whisper. “It’s Steve. It’s me.” 

Bucky blinked a few times, and Steve waited for five long seconds before recognition finally slipped back in, Bucky’s eyes returning to normal.

“Steve..?” So heartbreakingly unsure, and it was all Steve could take before reaching forth and wrapping Bucky in a tight hug.

Bucky froze at the sudden contact, stiffening completely like prey caught in a wolf’s mouth, before slowly, very slowly relaxing, his head sinking down onto Steve’s shoulder.

“Steve. _Steve_. Oh god-”

“I thought you were dead,” Steve mumbled, his eyes burning hot.

“I thought you were smaller.”

Steve smiled at the half-hearted joke before setting Bucky down, a deep warmth blossoming in his chest.

“Come on.”

They still weren’t safe, they still needed to battle through hordes and hordes of enemies and find their way back, but Bucky was here, and Bucky was alive, and that was all Steve really needed amidst the gunfire and explosions sounding off in the distance.

\----------

The factory exploded, Schmidt escaped, but they got out safe and sound, and now all they had to do was to march back to camp with all the soldiers, along with a few newly acquired magic tanks and with Bucky by Steve’s side.

It had only been a few short months since Steve last saw him, but Bucky already looked fifty years older than before. He was a lot quieter, there seemed to be a persistent haunted look now plastered to his face and he always seemed to be on edge, totally unable to relax no matter what Steve did.

Whatever happened to Bucky must have been _bad_ ; his best friend refused to talk about what happened no matter how many times Steve asked (and they have never kept secrets from each other since Steve could remember).

“…They know,” Bucky said one night very quietly in Steve’s tent, forehead pressed into Steve’s back, still shaking from his latest nightmare.

“Know?”

Steve felt Bucky nod.

“They know what I can do,” Bucky confessed, before brokenly continuing, “I tried to keep it from them but it hurt so much and I couldn’t-”

The back of Steve’s shirt started to get damp, and Bucky clutched onto him tighter, burying his head deeper still.

Steve didn’t reply, because he knew there was nothing he could say that would make Bucky feel better. And how could it? He’d been _tortured_ for god’s sake, and nothing could ever make that go away. People had hurt Bucky, did things to him that had him gasping awake at night, sometimes screaming, and Steve wanted nothing more than to take all that pain away, spare Bucky from all this suffering.

Steve’s heart ripped itself to pieces as he manoeuvred around and embraced Bucky, tucking him in. His dear friend was trembling, cold to the touch, and he let out a strangled sob before gripping Steve back, quickly turning the front of Steve’s shirt completely damp. Steve slowly stroked down Bucky’s back, taking deep long breaths, and eventually, after a very long time, Bucky’s breaths synched up to Steve’s. It took even longer before Bucky stopped shaking, and longer still before he slumped down onto Steve, falling asleep out of sheer exhaustion.

Once Steve was sure Bucky was deeply asleep, he gently set Bucky down to rest, watching him breathe in and out for a few minutes before lying down himself and closing his eyes.

When he woke up, Bucky was gone, but when Steve saw him later in the day, he looked much more refreshed than before. There was a new fragile strength ingrained into his steps as he walked about, checking up on everyone and making sure they had enough food.   

And then Bucky caught him looking, flashed him a tentative smile as he passed Steve his food rations for the day.

Steve smiled back as he took the food, silent. Then as if sensing something in Steve, Bucky’s expression softened and he tugged Steve into a quick hug.

Tears sprang out all of a sudden, stinging hot as Steve furiously tried to blink them back. He hugged Bucky back, throat drying up in an instant, completely unable to find the words to convey whatever he wanted to convey, just clinging onto Bucky like a lifeline, and god - he never ever wanted to let him go.

But some things didn’t need to be said to be understood. And Bucky, he understood, he always did, and he returned his own sentiment with a soft nuzzling motion that immediately warmed Steve’s heart.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Bucky mumbled, and Steve had to blink even harder to keep the tears back.

A few more days later, they finally marched back into camp, and they were immediately greeted by loud cheers all around.

With Bucky trailing behind him curiously, Steve headed straight for Colonel Phillips, saluting him and submitting himself for disciplinary action (Bucky had snorted and gave him the ‘really, Steve?’ expression).

“Not necessary,” the Colonel said, the tip of his lips raised into a hint of a smile.

Next was Peggy Carter with a stern expression on her face and her hands on her hips, although her eyes betrayed concern.

Bucky just took one look at her, back at Steve, and then he poked Steve in the back playfully, his universal sign for “you like her, don’t you?”. Steve swatted his hand away with a glare, and Bucky smirked back, poking Steve once more knowingly.

“You’re late,” Peggy began.

“Couldn’t call my ride,” Steve quipped back, showing her the busted communicator.

Peggy kept up her look of disapproval for a few more seconds before finally breaking into a soft smile, and Steve felt Bucky poke him even harder in the back, this one conveying “go get her, you stupid punk!”.

What a jerk.

\----------

Word of Steve singlehandedly taking down the Hydra camp and saving hundreds of soldiers spread like wildfire, as did his nickname of ‘Captain America’ - courtesy of Bucky, who couldn’t stop laughing at the name for weeks, and then made it his life’s mission to make Steve’s life as embarrassing as possible by spreading around the ridiculous name at every chance he got.

Steve told Bucky everything that happened, Project Rebirth, Dr Erskine, and he showed Bucky his newfound magic, to which Bucky laughed at, exclaiming,

“A shield, really Steve? Out of every shape imaginable, you chose a _shield?_ You couldn’t be any more obvious about your whole little patriotic act, can you, Captain America?”

“Perhaps.” Steve smiled, his voice dropping to a soft murmur. “But you know that’s not why I chose a shield.”

Bucky’s expression softened, eyes roaming down to Steve’s collar – where the purple pin was supposed to be if Steve actually decided to wear it instead of conveniently misplacing it every time. Couldn’t blame him though, because no matter what kind of punishment his officers put him through, Steve would still hate everything the stupid pin represented.

“I know,” Bucky said, his eyes boring into Steve’s. “I’m just proud of you, that’s all.”

Steve’s smile grew brighter. 

Bucky also finally met Howard, and that was a day Steve would remember for the rest of his life.

It started innocently out of the blue, with Bucky basically pouncing onto Steve one morning, tugging on his sleeve and whispering urgently,

“Steve. Steve. _STEVE!_ ”

Naturally, Steve thought the worst.

“Wha- What? What’s wrong?!”

“STEVE!” Bucky cried out again, eyes so wide they were probably going to pop out any second now. “Oh my god Steve. Stark is there. It’s fucking Howard Stark! He’s standing right there. Steve-”

It took a while for Steve to process what Bucky was rambling about, and he glanced over at where Bucky was looking at. True enough, Howard was there, hair mussed and in deep thought as he frowned at a stack of documents in hand. Steve looked back at Bucky, now with his jaw dropped, and then burst out laughing.

Bucky immediately smacked him. 

“It’s not funny, Steve! Why are you laughing?! It’s fucking Howard Stark!!”

“Do you want to say hi?” Steve asked, smirking as he stepped forward. “HEY, H-”

“Shut up! Oh my god what are you doing?! Steve!!” Bucky continued smacking him, but Howard had already turned at the sound, smiling as he noticed Steve.

Bucky let out an indignant shriek and ducked behind Steve, promptly turning into a trembling puddle.

“Oh my god!!”

Howard started shambling towards Steve, giving a little wave. Bucky started tugging onto Steve even more insistently.

“Steve. Steve, he’s coming over. What do I do? What do I say? My uniform’s a mess and – oh my god, my hair, Steve! My hair is a disaster!!”

Steve didn’t bother pointing out that his hair was always a disaster, already fully enjoying wherever this was heading.

“You punk! Why didn’t you tell me you’re friends with fucking Howard Stark?!” Bucky whispered before peering out from behind Steve’s shoulders and promptly squawking at the sight of Howard, hiding away again.

“Hey! Back from your little mission?” Howard greeted.

“Yeah, we got back a few days ago,” Steve said more cheerily than usual.

“Good, good. Fighting the good fight and all.” Howard nodded, and then raised an eyebrow at Bucky, still trying – and failing – to hide behind Steve.

“Oh, and I don’t think you two met yet.” Steve smirked, firmly dragging a squirming Bucky out from behind. The dumb jerk had gone completely red, eyes basically fixated on the ground. “This is Buc-”

“I’m James. But everyone calls me Bucky.” Bucky blurted out, and Steve had to bite back a laugh.

“Hi there. I’m Howard. Howard-”

“Stark,” Both said at the same time, and Bucky went even redder.

“You’re basically a legend,” Bucky said in one quick exhale. “I really admire your work. I was at the Stark Expo earlier this year and it was just…so incredible. Your technology is seriously out of this world, and that flying car you showed off? God, it was just amazing! And then there was the…”

Bucky went on blabbering for a full five minutes or so, a full five minutes of pure entertainment for Steve before he finally took pity on his poor starstruck friend, nudging him softly from the side.

“Erm…but anyway, I just think you’re really great and all. I admire you. A lot. So…yeah,” Bucky finished lamely, blushing again before falling silent.

That twinkle in Howard’s eye told Steve that he definitely shared Steve’s amusement, although he wasn’t outright grinning maniacally like he was.

“Thank you. That means a lot. And you’re Steve’s best friend Bucky right? From James Buchanan Barnes? Steve has told me a lot about you.”

Bucky immediately shot Steve an accusing look.

“Don’t worry,” Howard laughed. “He had nothing but praise for you. And Steve here a great fella, so anyone he approves of is definitely a good person in my books too.”

Bucky looked like he was going to faint any second now, and Steve finally decided to step in and end his suffering.

“Okay, okay. We need to go report back to Colonel Phillips and wash up, but we can catch you later hopefully? Drinks?”

“Sure. I have to get going for a meeting too anyway. I think I can hear that Carter lady screaming my head off already.”

Steve smiled, and Howard waved at them goodbye, before addressing Bucky directly,

“Bye Bucky! It’s good to finally meet you!”

Bucky was blinking stupidly, like he couldn’t believe his lifelong idol just called his name, and it took him at least six seconds to finally open his mouth.

“Bye!” He basically squeaked out, and when Howard finally slunk away out of sight, he dissolved back into a shivering puddle at Steve’s side, mumbling incoherently, but with a huge grin plastered to his face the whole time. 

“I hate you so much. You’re the absolute worst!” Bucky said.

“Oh what was that? You love me so much, I’m the best?”

“Shut up you punk!” Bucky hissed as he smacked Steve yet again, but didn’t stop grinning.

Steve couldn’t help but smile back brightly too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading and leaving lovely comments! :) It seriously means the world to me and I hope you will continue to enjoy where this fic is heading


	7. Power

Things weren’t all sunshine and rainbows again though, and their short-lived reprieve from the war ended just a mere week after returning back when Howard suddenly called for an urgent meeting with all the generals.

He had been given a sample of the magic weapon Steve stole from the camp, and the man got straight to prying it apart and testing it, quickly confirming Steve’s suspicions regarding the nature of the magic.

“The magic is not biologically derived.” Howard announced during the war meeting.

“What is it then?” Colonel Phillips demanded.

“Well…Its energy signature is much too different than traditional magic, and the only reasonable explanation is that it’s some kind of…artificial magic.”

Murmurs broke out around the table.

“You said it was impossible.”

“All I said was that this technology is – _was_ \- centuries ahead of us. Magic is interlinked with biology, and biology is unpredictable, fragile and wholly unreliable. Magic simply can’t exist without life, and trying to break that link is very hard – trust me. I’ve tried for _years_.”

The murmurs grew louder, until Colonel Phillips shushed them all with a firm knock on the table.

“But if somebody found a way to do it, to actually create artificial magic, limitless and unbound by the rules of life itself...Just imagine the power,” Howard continued grimly before nodding towards Steve. “And you said they had an army’s worth of these weapons?”

Steve nodded. “Probably more in their other bases.”

“Well then gentlemen. I guess we all understand what that means.”

The murmurs began anew, and Steve exchanged a look with Colonel Phillips across the table.

Elite magic squads already do enough damage on their own, and now Hydra had found a way to give everyone that kind of unlimited power.

This wasn’t just bad, this was _catastrophic_.

It became imperative to stop Hydra and dismantle their bases and factories before they could manufacture any more deadly weapons, so Steve went ahead and assembled a team.

His officers were less than happy when Steve’s team consisted of three nulls (including Bucky, who wasn’t really a null, but nobody needed to know that), but once they started dismantling Hydra bases left and right better than any of the other elite magic squads, all complaints and protests were promptly silenced.

Bucky still kept his magic secret, but he more than proved his worth as a sniper, saving Steve’s life a dozen times over until one mission involving a large magic-shooting tank forced his hand, exposing his magic.

It started off like usual, with new intel coming in about a new Hydra base, this time deep in the forest.

Steve and the Howling Commandos were sent in to take care of it, so off they went, taking it down easily and then trekking back down alongside a river where Peggy said would be the shortest route back to base camp.  

It had been one of those gloomier days, wading through thick layers of mud softened by a whole night’s worth of heavy rainfall, and they were all uncharacteristically quiet. No banter, no jokes. 

Bucky was by Steve’s side, gun slung behind his back, strands of limp hair plastered to his forehead by a thin layer of sweat, similarly silent. He was paler than usual, and the grey eye circles that had long become a normal feature on his face seemed even darker than usual.

Heaviness sunk in all throughout, such a strange contrast to the gentle scenery around them. Soft scents of soil and water blended with the almost musical slosh of the water, tides delicately shifting through sheets of gravel, on and on downstream. Rocks of dull grey polished into glossy silver by the thinnest sheen of water, interposed by small bursts of green from the blades of silky grass peeking out through the gaps, waving hello to the world.

Such peace. Innocent, untainted and beautiful, that it seemed almost terrifying it could even exist amongst everything else.

So of course, that was the exact moment the world chose to make everything fall apart.

The only warning Steve got was the sudden scent of magic in the air, scorching hot. Then a giant fiery blast of energy came shooting in from nowhere smashing into the ground, huge globs of earth flung into the air.  

“Watch out!” Gabe yelled, and Steve immediately mustered up his shield.

Everyone scattered as another blast came flying in, gouging out another giant crater in the ground right next to the first.

This time, Steve saw exactly where that came from, and he sent his shield flying with a shout, a circle of bright blue slicing through the cloud of dust and colliding straight into something with a sharp clang.

“Oh god. No way,” Dum Dum groaned.

A massive tank came crashing in, easily steamrolling over a tree and staring down at them with a thick barrel, already glowing white again.

“Get away!!”

The third explosion blasted another hole in the ground, barely missing Steve.

Magic was steaming hot in the air, nearly eye-watering for Steve, and he immediately sent another shield flying again, aiming for the barrel.

It was knocked aside easily without even making a dent, barrel suddenly shining blue as the shield struck it – the very same blue as all the other HYDRA weapons.

What the-

Jim shot out with his magic, a barrage of laser-like arrows, but once again, the tank deflected everything, its thick hull still completely unblemished and shimmering in blue.

“It’s been upgraded!” Steve said, shoving Bucky aside just as the tank rolled in closer, barrel shining yet again.

“STEVE!”

The blast collided into a hastily drawn shield, knocking him back into a tree. Bucky immediately darted back to his side through the cloud of smoke, hastily pulling him back up.

“Grenade!” Dum Dum shouted in the distance, and everyone jumped aside as it detonated, a loud crack in the air.

There was a brief moment of silence, and tank came bursting out of the smoke, still with not a single scratch on it.

“Aw fuck!”

So grenades were a no-go either. Well, that was just _fantastic_.

Bucky ducked behind a tree, pulling out his gun and snapping it into position.

A whole clip of bullets was unloaded into the tank with prime accuracy, but to no avail. The hull was too thick, and the shells just clattered to the ground uselessly.

“Bucky, get out of the way!” Steve screamed as another blast was fired. Bucky lunged away just in time, the tree he was hiding behind split cleanly into half, toppling over to the ground.

“Take cover in the trees!” Steve ordered, and his team scrambled back deeper into the forest, using the foliage as cover and throwing everything they had at the giant tank.

Bullets, more grenades, armour piercing rounds, more magic.

Nothing worked.

They needed more power. Or create a distraction, find a way to escape. But that meant HYDRA would only create more of such tanks and send them out, and if Steve and the Howling Commandos couldn’t take it down, what chance did everyone else have against it?  

No, they needed to destroy the tank right here, right now.

Steve raised his shield just in time to block another blast, gritting his teeth as he did so. Heat was searing down his arm, cuts and bruises stinging all over, but he endured it for a few excruciating seconds before the blast finally abated.

Steve panted, muscles surging with an icy heat, then it suddenly hit him.  

If his magic was invulnerable, capable of withstanding the tank’s magic blasts, then conversely his magic must also be able to pierce it. He just needed to get near and find a way to cut through it.

“I have an idea, but I need to get close!” Steve commanded.

“WAIT STEVE!” Bucky screamed, but Steve was already dashing out into the open, pouring every bit of magic into a fresh blue shield and focusing.

His magic flared to life and obeyed, the rounded edge of the shield narrowing and tapering out into a sharpened edge, like a lance, magic layered so thick it was nearly opaque now.

But Steve severely underestimated how fast this newly upgraded tank was. The barrel twisted back to him like a homing missile and clicked into place, stench of magic sinking heavily in the air as it started charging up another blast.

“STEVE!”

Then Steve heard a deafening roar, suddenly cast in a bright teal light. He jerked to the left and-

A massive tidal wave sparkling in an icy-blue came crashing in, towering nearly three full storeys in the air and smashing down, forcibly snapping the tank’s barrel to the side as the shot was fired.

The magic blast hit a few feet away from Steve instead, melting a hole into the ground.

This was his chance.

He dashed forward as fast as he could and leapt into the air with a cry, sharpened shield glowing even brighter as he landed onto the tank hatch. With a single stroke, he pierced his makeshift blade straight down.

It met the tank’s unyielding magic shield, refusing to budge, and Steve poured more magic down to his blade with another shout, muscles screaming in protest as he drove it in as far as it would go.

And _finally_ , the shield gave way with a last flicker, vanishing completely. Steve’s blade tore through the thick steel, sinking in deeply.  

He pulled his blade out and stabbed it back in with a savage twist, ripping open a hole through the hatch, barely big enough to fit a grenade.

Steve wasted no time, pulling the grenade from his pouch and ripping the pin off with his teeth. A heartbeat, then he flung it in, hurling himself away from the tank.

Another beat. Panicked shouts in German before–

The explosion reverberated through Steve’s very bones, ears ringing. He was slammed into a tree, cleanly breaking the trunk into two as the tree fell over.

He could feel several splinters digging into his skin, numerous bruises, a few hairline fractures perhaps, and he groaned out loud once before stumbling back up, clenching his jaw hard as he called for his team.

Bucky was beside him within mere seconds, hot fury turning his eyes into molten fire, but before either of them could say a thing, Jim yelled out,

“Gabe’s hurt! Got caught in one of the shots. He’s - It’s _bad_.”

Steve and Bucky immediately dashed over, Steve using his shield to fan away the cloud of smoke and dust as he dropped down beside the men, scanning Gabe’s body.

There was a large patch of blood all over Gabe’s abdomen, and Jim was gripping Gabe’s hand tightly, dust smeared all over but still unable to hide the terrified expression on his face.

Steve applied pressure to the wound, trying to stem the flow, but a worrying amount of blood continued to gush out, and he exchanged a look of horror with Jim.

Bucky took one look at Gabe, at the wound, and he immediately dropped his rifle, kneeling beside Steve. 

“Steve.”

Steve met his eyes, a silent conversation exchanged within a matter of seconds, and he nodded grimly. 

With bloodstained fingers, Steve pulled out his water canteen, popping the cover open and handing it over to Bucky. Only clean water would work. 

Bucky’s eyes flashed, glowing a shade of electrifying blue as all smell of dust and smoke quickly evaporated away, making way for a sharp, salty smell to sink in – Bucky’s signature magic scent, like burnt seawater.

“Stand away,” Bucky commanded, eyes growing even brighter.

Jim’s eyes widened, but he complied, scuttling aside to make room for Bucky. Steve saw Bucky take a deep breath before raising his hands, drawing all the water out from the canteen.

With a wave, the water settled on top of Gabe’s skin over the patch of red and started to shine.

The light was blinding – Steve had never seen Bucky’s magic shine so bright before – and he squinted through it, watching in amazement as the red started to withdraw, broken skin stitching back together, cell by cell.

Everyone was speechless through it all, and eventually, the glow started to subside, fading into nothing.

Bucky staggered back on his feet, panting hard. He met Steve’s eyes with a silent plea, then stumbled forward and collapsed straight into Steve’s arms, arms already raised up to catch him.

The rest of the team were staring at Bucky in utter shock, then at Steve with a million questions ready on their lips, but then thankfully, Gabe’s eyes fluttered open and all attention was diverted back to the injured man.

“Did we win?” Gabe asked, voice hoarse.

Jim barked out a laugh.

“Yeah, yeah we did.”

\----------

Steve had to carry Bucky all the way back to the campsite while the others carried Gabe (his wound wasn’t completely healed, but the bleeding had stopped).

Once Steve settled Bucky into a tent, tucked under as many blankets and jackets Steve could find, he finally pushed open the flap of the tent, ready to join his team at the campfire.

Everyone’s eyes shot to Steve when he sat down, clearly waiting in anticipation, and Steve sighed, his heart falling.

“I’m sorry.” Was the first thing he started with, and everyone raised an eyebrow, clearly not expecting that. “Bucky just – What happened there was –”

“Is Bucky going to be okay?”

“What-” Steve swallowed. “Uh yeah, he’s fine. He just gets really tired when he…does his thing.”

“So…no harm done?” Jim clarified.

“No, he just needs to rest.”

“Oh that’s good.” Jim’s shoulders relaxed. “Gabe was worried he might have hurt Bucky.”

“Uhm yeah…But anyway, whatever happened was just-”

“You don’t have to explain anything to us, Captain,” Dum Dum broke in.

Steve just stared at him.

“We never cared that he was a null before, and we don’t care if he has magic now. Nothing’s changed.”

Everyone nodded, and Steve blinked at them dumbly.

“But-”

“Bucky had his own reasons for keeping it a secret, so we’ll respect that. None of us will say anything. Except-” And Dum Dum smiled. “He should know that his magic is _amazing_.”

Steve smiled back, thinking of all the times Bucky used his magic. Creating bubble animals, healing Steve, cleaning up his paintbrushes.

“Yeah, it really is,” Steve said.

And that was it.

Bucky woke up a day and a half later to yell at Steve for a full hour for being so stupid and reckless, and then when he scrambled to explain himself to the team, saying,

“You know, uhm…what happened back there was- It was because- Don’t-”

“A trick of the eye, yes?” Falsworth cut in.

“Yes indeed. A trick of the eye.” Jim nodded enthusiastically.

“Huh? But-” Bucky protested.

“It was a trick of the eye, right _Bucky?_ ” Dum Dum said, voice unusually still.

Bucky went silent, and he quickly looked between the team, at Steve, before his shoulders finally relaxed minutely.

“Yeah…It was a trick of the eye,” He mumbled before smiling brightly.

Then they all returned to normal, sitting around the campfire with the usual banter, everything from before seemingly all forgotten.

But then Steve found Bucky later outside the tents deep into the night, quietly tucked away at a corner smelling of salt.

What was going on with him?

Steve smelled a flash of magic in the air again, and curiosity finally got the better of him. He stepped out of the tent, walking over to where Bucky was seated.

And there, Steve saw a tiny bubble cat sitting on the grass in front of Bucky, tiny bubbly ears twitching as Steve sat down beside him. Steve reached out gently poke the cat. It was soft. Bouncy. Pretty cute.

“Can’t sleep?” Steve asked.

Bucky shook his head.

“Is it about the Howlies and your magic? Because I talked to them before and-”

Another shake.

“It’s not that. It’s just…” Bucky clenched his fist, and another burst of magic flared out. The cat stood back up, tail flicking from side to side.

“It was so easy you know,” Bucky said. “Drawing up all that water and having it crash down like that. And I knew I could have done more. Could’ve crushed the tank, killed everyone in it, and it wouldn’t even have taken more than a simple wave of a hand.” Bucky let out a sigh, sinking down further, and then added more softly, “wouldn’t be my first time too anyway.”

Not the first tim- Steve’s eyes widened. Oh. _Zola_.

“It scares me,” Bucky confessed, making his bubble cat jump up in the air and onto Steve’s lap, head cocking to the side. “It’s just…so easy. Too easy. You’d think it’ll be hard, right? Taking somebody’s life? No, I could kill so many people and I wouldn’t even need to lift a finger.”

Steve didn’t really know how to respond to that, but he did understand where Bucky was coming from. A little. It’s why he uses his magic exclusively in the form of a shield after all, not anything else.

“At least killing people with a gun takes more effort than that. Looking through a scope, lining up a shot, pulling the trigger. Makes it harder you know, I feel like it _should_ be.” Then Bucky gave a dry laugh. “It’s stupid, don’t you think? I’m killing them either way, it shouldn’t matter.” 

The bubble cat faded away.

“It does matter,” Steve said after a few seconds. “Even though they’re our enemies, at least the fight was fair. At least they had some dignity. It’s a matter of principle.”

“More like I’m just a damn coward who refuses to get his hands dirty like everyone else.”

“But you do. You do get your hands dirty, and maybe it’s not in the same way that everyone else does, but you’re no coward Buck. It takes more strength to hold back than to strike, and you’re the bravest person I ever know.”

Bucky forced a smile at that, didn’t say anything for a long while, and then,

“…I don’t ever want to hurt someone with my magic again Steve,” He said it so softly, nobody without enhanced hearing like Steve would have heard it.

He immediately drew Bucky into a hug.

“You never have to. I _swear_ to you.”

Bucky smiled again, only this time, it was completely genuine.

“Thanks Stevie.”

\----------

After that fateful mission, the Howling Commandos all returned back from all other missions with miraculously little injuries, sometimes with not even the slightest cut or bruise.

And if Steve had to carry Bucky back to base smelling of the ocean more often than not, nobody said a thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank you so much for reading! It means the world to me and I hope you're still enjoying the story (even though we all know where it's heading at this point :P)


	8. The End?

Bucky wouldn’t stop teasing him about a few things.

One was the time Steve threw up on the Cyclone.

Two was his stupid nickname Captain America.

And third and lastly was _Peggy Carter_.

“So…Peggy huh?” Bucky asked once while they were in the bar after a long day.

“What about her?” Steve stiffened, taking a cautious sip of water from his glass and narrowing his eyes when he caught that stupid mischievous glint in Bucky’s eyes.

Dum Dum was singing some song in the background, off-tune and clearly drunk while the others cheered him on. Bucky and Steve on the other hand have barricaded themselves at a tiny corner away from all the drunkenness once Gabe – all red-faced and tipsy – decided it was the perfect moment to dispose of his top and prance around the bar like a madman trying to pull off the pants of everyone in sight.

Steve should have objected, he really should. He was the leader and it was his responsibility to keep everyone in check, in uniform or not, but Steve honestly never had the heart to tell them off. Hydra missions were gruelling enough, and putting their lives on the line every single day surely warranted some leeway when it came to down-time.

“She looks good today,” Bucky continued. 

Steve just nodded, already suspicious of where Bucky was going with all this. 

“…In particular that _lipstick_.”

Steve looked down.

“I guess. I don’t know.”

“Strange really, considering the colour bears a startling resemblance to that lipstick you sheepishly failed to hide away the other day.”

Bucky must have waited for Steve to take a huge gulp of water like the annoying asshole he was, because Steve choked and spurted the water everywhere, coughing a few times and turning completely red.

“Bucky! It’s not-”

“What? Don’t tell me you didn’t notice the _uncanny_ similarity.” Bucky smirked.

“She’s not- she’s just- I didn’t-”

“Well she looks good, so I guess your artist’s eye had some use after all.” Bucky’s smirk widened when Steve turned even redder, smacking Bucky on the arm. “So are you gonna make a move?”

“What? No! Yo- you know I don’t have time for that!”

And it _was_ true, Steve adamantly thought. They were still throwing everything they had into fighting Hydra, and there was just no time to consider anything else.

“Okay fine, maybe not now, but after the war? After everything is over?”

Steve couldn’t help but imagine it.

It was a nice thought, a time when he didn’t need to fight, a time when he could settle down back in his apartment with Bucky and take up drawing again. And in the weekends, if Peggy wanted, maybe they could go somewhere nice, have a good dinner and just…talk. Just spend some time getting to know each other better without this war getting in the way of everything and seeing where it leads to…

It _did_ sound nice.

“I guess.”

“Well, she seems to like you just fine too, so no problems there.”

Steve perked up.

“She does?”

Bucky rolled his eyes and gave an exaggerated groan.

“Oh my god, you’re really an idiot. I bet you regret not letting me hook you up with those dames back home now. You’re just completely hopeless.”

Steve glared at him. 

“No seriously, have you never seen her look at you?”

“She looks at everyone the same, Buck.”

“Yeah, and I’m sure she gives _everyone_ a snack bar and a canteen of water every time we return back to base.”

“That’s just- I have a high metabolism!”

Bucky rolled his eyes.

“Just face it, Stevie. You’re not the most discerning when it comes to women.” Bucky winked and leaned in. “But don’t worry, after all this is over, I’ll teach you all you need to know.”

\----------

Bucky never got that chance.

He was shot out of a speeding train by a Hydra grunt, hanging on to a metal pole for his life while Steve reached out, screaming for him to hang on.

Steve’s magic was flickering – the magic blasts from the Hydra grunt had drained his energy much more than he expected – and he was doing everything he could to draw all his thoughts together and draw up every last bit of magic within him but failing because of his high-strung emotional state.

Bucky’s eyes were glowing, salt heavily infused in the air as whatever water in the vicinity was drawn up, swishing around in a desperate attempt to save Bucky from his predicament but there was nothing the water could do and-

Steve’s magic finally came into place, his body searing at the strain as the magic shaped itself into a long pole that Bucky could grab onto and-

It was too late.

“BUCKY!!”

The last thing Steve heard was Bucky’s scream shattering him from the inside, and then, there was nothing.

\----------

Summoning his magic after that became much harder.

Magic was attuned to one’s biology, but magic wasn’t just a physical skill like flying or running. It wasn’t just a ‘muscle’ you could use at will. Magic was more than that, it needed a delicate balance between mind and body, it changed according to emotional state and reacted to one’s thoughts and will.

And for Steve, with grief so deeply embedded within his very soul, his magic just refused to work properly. His rage at Hydra and Schmidt helped some, added aggression to his magic that helped maintain the illusion of functional magic, but the people close to him knew better.

Peggy said Steve’s shields looked rougher now; Steve usually had a perfectly round shield, but now it had jagged edges, and when Steve tried to make it smooth again, the magic snarled back, flickering like a candle flame about to be extinguished until Steve gave up. Even his team noted that Steve’s magic now looked dimmer, and instead of looking like smooth sheets of frosted glass, it now looked uneven, almost opaque in some areas, and near transparent in others.

But Steve didn’t care.

Bucky was gone.

He would take down Schmidt at any cost, and if he was more vicious towards the Hydra agents than before, people chalked it up to the immense stress of having to save the world from destruction.

\----------

When Steve finally came face to face with Schmidt, he was in cuffs, staring up at the leader of Hydra, Red Skull himself.

“Arrogance may not be a uniquely American trait but I must say, you do it better than anyone,” Schmidt mocked.

Not arrogance, Steve thought. Rage. Guilt. Grief.

- _Bucky_.

“But there are limits to what even you can do, Captain.”

Steve said nothing, and when Schmidt’s eyes glowed red in warning, fingers curled into a fist, he just grit his teeth, and waited.

Three blows came in quick succession, accompanied by the stink of smoke and charcoal, and Steve couldn’t help but crack a smile at the pain, even though his insides felt like they’ve been overturned and blended into mush.

“I can do this all day,” Steve declared, head starting to swim.

Red Skull laughed once.

“Of course you can, of course.”

Schmidt rummaged through his black leather coat to pull out a glowing blue gun, pointing it in the middle of Steve’s eyes.

“But unfortunately, I am on a tight schedule.”

The trigger clicked into place, readying a blast of hot magic.

Schmidt’s fingers pressed in.

The barrel started to glow. 

-And so did Steve’s eyes.

Then all hell broke loose.

Steve ripped out of the cuffs and conjured a shield, the magic bullet exploding on impact in a burst of neon blue and searing heat.

Glass shards rained down like a hailstorm in a deafening crash and Steve’s team dropped in from their wires onto the fresh carpet of glass, guns locked and loaded.

Schmidt cursed out loud. Magic gunfire was exchanged, lethal bullets of compressed magic shooting across the room left and right.

The room quickly heat up like an oven, the stench of magic infusing into the air and Schmidt cursed again, making a run for it.

Steve chased after him, ignoring the sharp burn of a stray blast nicking him at the side of his arm and dashing out of the room.

There were explosions going off in the distance, debris flying, screams and cries of people before going down, falling lifeless to the floor.

How many more needed to die before Schmidt was stopped?

Steve clenched his jaw hard and hurried down the corridor.

\----------

It all passed in a blur, until Steve was standing in the control room of the Valkyrie, ready to risk all he had to stop those bombs from reaching land and destroying everything he fought for.

There was a central energy source in the middle, glowing the same blue as all the other magic-imbued weapons Hydra have been using. It reeked of that same stench of empty, deathly magic, and Steve narrowed his eyes at it.

So this was where Hydra got the power to create artificial magic.

But before he could go closer and investigate, the hairs on his neck stood up in warning and Steve twisted around, quickly materialising his shield to block a magic blast from Schmidt’s gun.

“You don’t give up, do you?” Schmidt yelled.

Steve drew out his power and hardened his shield, deflecting another magic blast.

“Nope.”

Another explosion. Steve’s shield held strong.

Schmidt readied another blast, but Steve was quicker and an apt throw of his shield knocked that damned gun out of his hands, clattering uselessly to the floor.

Schmidt let out a loud snarl, eyes starting to glow red – blood red – and his fingers clenched, raised up and swooping in before Steve even had the time to react.

There was a loud crack, and Steve was knocked aside, flying across the room and crashing straight into a railing, the sheer force of the impact denting the metal in as though it was made of clay. Pain exploded at the back of his head and Steve winced, shield flickering away as dark spots filled his vision.

Steve blinked frantically, seeing the barest flare of red coming in through his hazy gaze before he mustered every drop of magic he had in him to raise up a shield.

Light burst to life, searing hot. Bright red meeting blue in an explosive screech, energies colliding and sparking off each other.

Steve held strong, his magic pouring out of him like a broken dam to fend off Schmidt’s brutal onslaught.

Schmidt roared, raising his other fist and sending another superpowered punch coming down.

Steve shouted back, flinging open every gate keeping his magic under tight control and throwing out everything he had in the thickest shield he could conjure. 

The brawl continued, Red Skull’s powerful punches and kicks met by Steve’s impenetrable shields, over and over. Not a battle of physical prowess and magic, but a battle of will as their energies clashed together, each one refusing to back down, growing stronger and brighter still.

And then Steve hurled an arc of magic towards Schmidt, barely crystallised into a shield mid-flight. Schmidt was knocked over easily and the shield ricocheted off, piercing straight into the metal contraption keeping that strange energy source contained.

A loud crack.

Then an overpowering stench of fire and death filled the air, fumes of something distinctly otherworldly erupting out. A bright cube rolled out, sending rampant waves of energy crackling upwards, splitting the air.

“NO! What have you done?!” Schmidt roared from the ground, scrambling for that cube and cradling it like a precious child in his hands.

The thick miasma of magic in the air was near suffocating, and Steve coughed, hot energy in the air making his eyes burn and sting. Steve took an unwilling step backwards as the cube left off another searing burst of energy, and he watched as the cube grew brighter, waves of powerful magic pulsing out.

Schmidt was still staring at the cube, seemingly entranced, and Steve gasped when the magic wrapped around Schmidt’s hand as a tendril of pure energy, melting his glove, skin, flesh, and rapidly spreading up towards the elbow and shoulders.

Red Skull let out a guttural scream of pain, and with an explosion of light and magic that had Steve ducking aside and tossed backwards despite his raised shield, Schmidt _vanished_.

Then there was silence. Stillness.

The strange cube fell to the ground, deceptively small and harmless. Steve watched it corrode its way through the hull of the ship falling away into the ocean before he picked himself back up, darting to the busted control panel of the ship. 

Steve quickly contacted Peggy and sat down in the pilot’s chair, punching the controls and flicking the buttons, heartbeat racing when none of the buttons responded.

“Give me your coordinates, I’ll find you a safe landing spot!” Peggy cried out.

Steve punched the buttons again, over and over to no avail, and then let out a ragged breath as he stared at the useless control panel. No. This can’t be-

“…There’s not gonna be a safe landing,” Steve admitted, not missing the way his voice shook at the end. _No_ , this can’t be the end.

Peggy’s voice was growing more urgent, panicked, but Steve barely heard any of it past the roaring thump of his heart. He thought of the bombs tucked away somewhere in the ship, all too ready to lay waste to everything Steve held dear and there was nothing he could do. He’d worked so hard, come so far, and yet-

Steve finally tore his eyes off the busted control panels, Peggy’s voice in the intercom fading away into silence.

And he looked up.

The first thing that hit him was the sun, shining brightly, rays of warm light peeking through layers of fluffy clouds and illuminating everything it touched with this soft amber glow. The softness of the clouds. How peaceful and calm everything was.

The colours melding together in such a perfect fashion that no painting could ever possibly hope to do justice. Orange blending into calm blues, fading into the most gorgeous shades of violet and pink at the edges.

The very essence of beauty itself right in front of him.

The exact kind of landscape Steve could always imagine inside his head but was never good enough to put down on a canvas.

Bucky had always said that when he’d saved enough money, he would take Steve to a nice place, somewhere secluded, over the hills, away from everyone. Somewhere like _this_ , with just his canvas and his paints, to draw that very one painting he’d always dreamt of bringing to life.

Steve’s eyes stung as a sudden rush of emotion swallowed him whole, and he closed his eyes, taking a deep breath.

And out.

Bucky came to mind, vibrant and alive, _smiling_ , because how could Steve bear to imagine him as anything other than happy and-

He immediately knew what had to be done.

“…I got to put her in the water,” Steve murmured, oddly calm.

“- _Please_ don’t do this,” Peggy’s voice came back to his awareness, begging. “We have time. We can work it out.”

Steve shook his head, eyes growing wet.

“Right now I’m in the middle of nowhere. If I wait any longer, a lot of people are gonna die.”

There was a long pause.

“Peggy…” Steve’s heart ached at the thought of Peggy’s expression right now, full of sorrow, hopelessness, every painful emotion she should never have to feel. “This is my choice.”

Steve blinked away his tears and looked back up, taking one last look at the beautiful sky, trying to burn this last thing in his memory…and then tilted the plane down into a sharp dive.

His stomach lurched at the sudden acceleration, fresh sweat pouring out as a stubborn primal surge of survival instinct clawed its way out and lodged straight in his throat.

And _god_ did it hurt.

He thought of Peggy, of what could have been, a nice dinner, a dance, maybe even a life together, who knew what could have happened, he only wished he had the chance to find out what.

He thought of his mother, life snuffed out too soon. Steve wished he could thank and hug her just one last time.

And then he thought of Bucky, always there by his side, so unbelievably kind and selfless, who had the most incredible and beautiful magic in the world but never saw it as such. He died fighting alongside Steve, alone in the ice. It was nothing he ever deserved.

At least he wouldn’t be alone now, Steve thought, eyes stinging and growing even wetter as he watched the Arctic ice grow closer, a blanket of pure white, looking deceptively soft.

Steve’s heart throbbed painfully, thundering hard in his ribcage like it wanted to burst out and escape this horrible predicament.

Was this how Bucky felt? Knowing it was the end? How _awful_ this feeling was.

Steve closed his eyes, willing the image of that beautiful sky to come to mind.

There was a loud crash, coldness, pain, so much pain and-

 _Nothing_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading till the end (even though pretty much everyone knew how it would have ended anyway :P )

**Author's Note:**

> This story originally came from a small silly idea that I thought of many months ago, and now it's become this huge monster fic that's taken over my life. 
> 
> I'll probably update this fic once a week until it's done, and I can tell you now, it's gonna be a long ride. I can't begin to describe how nervous I am to start posting this since it's my first time writing anything like this, but I really hope you enjoy reading it nonetheless! 
> 
> Thank you so much!! :)


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